By Any Other Name
by souleswanderer
Summary: If you enjoyed The Colour of a Rose. The garden continues to grow. Master Rose pairing set after Doomsday in Pete's world. One may find more than they're looking for, if they only open their eyes. Just who is Harry Saxon? It really is a love story.
1. Chapter 1

**I don't own Doctor Who or anything associated with it. I will take the blame for an over active imagination. This is another group of stories set in The Colour of a Rose Series. I hope you enjoy, and it's only because of reviews that this grew as big as it did. Thankyou.**

**The Colour of a Rose Series**

**By Any Other Name **

A solitary figure huddled on the sand, blanketed by the cold mist, dark clothes a study in contrast to the muted greys that colour the landscape. Sitting as still as the giant boulders scattered along the ragged coastline, the only other telltale sign of the lone individuals presence, a trail of footprints marking the path taken.

Thick, colourless clouds stretch towards the horizon, effectively muting any light, instead bathing the world in flat shadows, a bland, achromatic scene of calm wildness. Roiling waves crash over each other in their haste to stretch beyond the fringes of the shoreline, straining to push the boundaries further than the one before. The tumultuous roar a background hum that silences all nearby, yet becomes a steady, reassuring, hypnotic murmur defying time.

Sorrow filled eyes stare blankly out over the vast expanse of ocean. A stony outward appearance belies the inner turmoil raging like a tempest, memories swell like waves assaulting her mind, mirroring the power of nature she views before her. A trail of tears washes down her cheeks unheeded, dropping to the ground, their passing is hidden quickly by the sand as it soaks away the moisture.

Movement draws her eyes like a magnet. Another lone figure, with short-cropped hair half hidden by the black hoodie.

A sharp intake of breath as she dares to hope.

Too broad, a bit shorter, rounder face, and her hopes are dashed quickly. She returns her gaze to the open water, now willing the stranger to continue on.

The man follows the edge of the shore, mindless of the water gently sloshing over his white trainers, and slowly dampening the bottoms of his grey sweats. Hands thrust deeply into the pockets of his black leather jacket complete the ensemble, and his eyes seem focused forward, as he saunters past.

Just as she begins to relax, he stops, turns towards her, and takes a few hesitant steps her direction.

"Go away!" Her mind screams at him, yet her face reveals no emotion. As the distance lessens, his steps grow shorter, seeming unsure of his actions, he hesitates.

"If you'll forgive me, miss--" His melodic baritone voice distinguishes itself against the background of nature, and she ignores his inviting question.

Undisturbed, he continues. "I've seen you here the last few days. Is everything alright?" He sounds almost apologetic.

She closes her eyes, takes a deep breath, filters quickly through the many answers she could give him, then slowly lifts her face to study his. A shiver courses through her as she glimpses a familiar, ancient reflection in the brown orbs, his warm inviting smile makes her feel slightly ashamed.

"Just waiting for a friend." She manages to tell him softly.

"Ahh." He glances around, expecting another figure to appear.

Rose involuntarily sniffles at the comical response, reminding her vaguely of another, and wipes her face.

"Would you mind if I give you this?" He asks timidly, while reaching a closed hand towards her, then uncurling his thick fingers to reveal a bright pink, tear-drop shaped bud, wrapped in delicate green leaves, resting in his palm.

Extending her hand warily, she lifts the exquisite bud gingerly from his hand.

"It's a rosa acicularis, well, the scientific name. Also known as prickly rose, arctic rose, or wild rose." He hastens to assure her.

A sob escapes, and she bites her lower lip. Warm memories flood her, as a fresh shower of tears began to fall, and her heart cries out in painful loss.

Gently grasping her wrist, he pulls her to stand in front of him.

"I, I'm sorry. I just miss him." she hides her face in her hands, the bud brushing against her cheek.

He steps forward, arms embracing her in a tender hug, murmuring comforting words. She leans her head against his chest, and hears the unmistakable sound of two heartbeats.


	2. Chapter 2

**The Colour of a Rose**

**By Any Other Name - Primrose**

It was a small, quaint shop, the type one pictured on the cover of The Saturday Evening Post. Oversized windows, advertising the daily special, faced the busy street bordered by checked gingham curtains, safeguarding the quiet solitude and friendly warmth inside.

A teenaged couple sat in the far booth sharing chips, and starry-eyed glances. The only audience to their secretive whispers and muffled giggles, was an empty coca-cola glass, and a pair of straws; one tinged with a hint of pink lip gloss.

At the lengthy counter, hunched over his steaming soup and half-eaten sandwich, a weekly regular perused the local paper for the latest news. A few shiny coins, mirrored in the marble countertop, lay next to the paper receipt.

On the opposite end, a tow-haired child grinned in innocent delight, partaking in the chocolate shake looming over him. A small splotch of whip cream outlined the edge of his mouth, where his tongue hadn't yet explored, and stubby fingers captured the cherry stem, keeping the fruit afloat in the blended liquid. The elderly lady beside him, daintily picking at her own hot fudge sundae, smiled fondly at the youngster's antics.

Two businessmen across the aisle, discussed politics over lunch, letting their eyes roam whenever a pretty girl walked past the window.

A small radio played an outdated Beatles tune in the back, while the waitress gossiped with the burly cook in the tiny hallway, dividing the dining area and kitchen.

The blonde girl sat quietly, leaning against the window watching the world go by outside, while a cup of once, hot tea cooled in her hands.

A tiny, gold bell jingled, as the door opened behind her, signalling the arrival of another visitor.

The motherly waitress called out to the guest. "Have a seat love. Be right with ya."

Rose was aware that the newcomer was standing beside her, and looked up, startled to see, the man from the beach. She felt a small flush creep upwards and a tiny flutter in her stomach; from nerves or excitement, she wasn't sure.

At least he had the decency to look mildly surprised, at seeing her again. Although from watching him, Rose surmised, every movement was a planned calculation.

"Hello."

"Hi." She smiled back weakly, unsure if she should invite him to join her, or not. He answered that quickly, by sliding smoothly into the opposite booth.

She sat up straighter in her seat, pulled the cup of liquid closer, and began studying its contents intently, not daring to peek at the handsome features across from her.

He leaned forward, hands folded and arms supporting him, the leather jacket he wore, creaking slightly.

"I don't bite. Well, except for a playful nip or two."

Rose couldn't help giggling. Glancing up, and looking into those warm, brown eyes, she was again reminded of someone else, as she held his gaze.

Shaking her head, she realized he had been speaking, again. He regarded her, concern and confusion written across his face.

"I'm sorry," she waved a hand absently and stared back out the window, trying to hide unwanted tears and seeing her own, broken reflection, mirrored in the glass.

"Rose Tyler."

The name was a whisper, a melody, a prayer, reaching into her soul. Those two words, spoken with such quiet intensity, drew her back like a magnet.

He held her hand between his, marvelling at the warmth of her touch, the feel of her soft skin against his. Such a simple and fragile creature, yet so full of wonder, it amazed, and frightened him.

He knew he was in danger of falling. Falling further than he'd ever fallen before, and it didn't bother him. Rather, as he pulled one hand back, he knew; he would welcome the sensation with open arms.

Not letting go completely, he reached into his jacket and pulled out a pale yellow flower, and layed it gently in her palm. He then reverently, set her hand onto the table and pulled back, watching her face.

"It's beautiful. A primrose, yeah?" she queried, not raising her eyes. Then a firm, but unyielding touch under her chin, forced her to once again lose herself in his eyes.

"You're worth waiting for." He said with sincerity.


	3. Chapter 3

Damask Rose

It was that unmistakable smell, a fresh crispness carried heavily in the air. A clean, invigorating scent that lightly tingled in the nose, deeply inhaling, it filled the lungs with a brisk, penetrating essence one savoured deeply.

The oncoming storm.

Dark, rolling clouds in the distance gathered swiftly, signaling the coming rain. Rose breathed in deeply, enjoying the refreshing smell that preempted the threatening shower.

She had set out earlier for a leisure stroll, anxious to explore a bit of the countryside, before returning home in a few days. Having walked for a few hours, enjoying the feel of stretching out her legs, she had discovered a small bubbling brook, bordered by stones, and nestled amongst fields of tiny wild flowers.

The temptation to rest had been too enticing, and sitting under the warm sun, the hypnotic murmuring of the brook and the sweet, delicate aroma surrounding her, all combined to lull her into a light slumber.

It had easily been a few hours, when she awoke with a start. The sun was now hidden behind an angry grey cloud cover, and though the light of the afternoon had waned, the vibrant colours seemed to be more pronounced in the dim illumination.

She stretched, ridding her body of the sluggish, heaviness leftover from sleep. Standing slowly she took in the landscape, observing a dense, murky wall, unhurriedly advancing over the quiet town, the direction she needed to travel.

Cringing inwardly, she silently wished she had had the foresight to bring along a jacket. Already the temperature had cooled, and the once gentle breeze, was turning into a raw, biting chill, whose icy fingers clamped around her frame, causing her to shiver.

Well, she thought, no use standing around feeling sorry for myself, and began the journey back towards town, warily watching the imminently approaching storm.

As the first few scattered drops of liquid slapped against her face, she was reminded of the time her and the Doctor had been caught in a downpour without any warning.

She smiled thinking of the Doctor's face, so forlorn as his dark hair was uncharacteristically plastered against his scalp, as water dribbled down his long nose and the odd drops he didn't catch with his tongue, dripping off of his chin. He had turned those big brown, puppy dog eyes of his on her, and pouted all the way back to the TARDIS.

Upon removing his trench coat, that had turned a shade darker, he'd had to drain the pockets, as they were so full of water. All the odd bits and pieces hiding in their depths that weren't waterproof, he had almost mourned for.

Yet, it was when he'd thought to save time, by throwing his white socks and pants into the dryer with her red hoodie, that she'd gotten the last laugh.

The definition of dignity, hadn't included a time lord, standing in a jail cell, wearing only a pair of pink boxers.

The memory caused Rose to laugh out loud, a feeling she missed almost as much as his presence lately. All too soon, the laughter was lost amongst the pattering of rain, tears stung her eyes, as she longed for the comfort of her hand wrapped in another's.

She was starting to lose track of the time. Her footsteps had slowed as the path turned from a hard packed dirt to slippery mud that clung tenaciously to her shoes, and forced her to concentrate on each next step.

Soaked didn't began to describe how she felt. Her teeth were chattering, shoulders hunched forward, arms folded tightly against herself, no longer even bothering to look up. Just focus on putting one foot ahead of the other, she chanted over in her head. Her hair hung limply, hiding her face, and she was beginning not to feel her thighs and upper arms. She'd long since given up trying to rub warmth back into her arms, as the effort was too great.

Keep moving, keep moving.

Risking a glance forward she began to panic, realizing the grayness was turning to blackness. She could still discern the outline of the road for now, soon that would be swallowed by the darkness also.

Throwing caution to the wind, she began to walk a bit quicker, slipping and sliding precariously, she was forced to compensate with her arms.

Why did the return trips always seem to take so much longer? Why hadn't she seen any lights yet?

Lost in her musings, she stepped down, her foot sliding sideways. Attempting to right herself, the other foot slipped out from under her. She fell hard, stumbling sideways, managing to twist her ankle underneath, then pitched backwards. The wind was knocked out of her when her back connected with the ground, and the last thing she remembered, was sudden pain and a blinding white light, as her head hit something solid.

She became aware first, of a dull pounding in her head, and a deep throbbing in her swollen ankle, then the warmth and sounds of a fire close by. Slowly opening her eyes, she squinted against the brightness of the unfamiliar room.

She was cocooned in a thick blanket, wrapped snugly about her, and lying on a sofa. Close by, a small fire danced merrily in the rock fireplace, shadows played along the walls and ceiling, mirroring the flames movements.

Lifting herself up, she fell back with a groan, as the room began spinning. Touching the side of her head tentatively, she grimaced, feeling a sticky bump under her damp hair.

"You're awake." The familiar figure followed the voice into the room. The warm, concerned smile came closer, and he took a seat on the edge of the coffee table, holding out a steaming cup. "Made some tea."

Rose smiled weakly, and felt a strong hand slide behind her as she sat up.

"Quite a nasty bang on the head. I'll get you something for that."

"Thanks." Accepting the hot mug with two hands, she felt a momentary spark as their fingers brushed, and felt a warmth creeping up her neck.

Satisfied she was drinking the liquid, he turned to poke distractedly at the burning logs, sneaking glances back towards his charge.

The warm tea, pleasant fire and thick blanket all contributed to the struggle to keep her heavy eyelids open and stifle a yawn, despite the soreness of her ankle and head.

"Been a while since I've entertained a guest, but never quite thought of myself as a bore, until now." Rose's eyes popped open, and a stuttered apology came out. He dismissed it with a wave of his hand and a low chuckle.

Turning towards her he stood and offered her his hand.

"Before you get too comfortable, I've taken the liberty to set out a track suit, and t-shirt in the bathroom. It's not the Ritz," he glanced around the room. "but you'll be safe and dry for the evening."

Rose appeared slightly puzzled, "What time is it?"

"After ten. I will drive you back to your hotel in the morning, when the weather clears."

Placing her hand in his, he pulled her slowly upwards, then offered his other arm as she gingerly placed weight on the sprained ankle, letting the blanket fall back to the couch. He stepped next to her, taking her weight as she slowly hobbled towards the bathroom.

This close to him, she could smell a light herbal soap scent, musk, and something vaguely familiar, she was unable to place. Shutting the door behind her, she leaned against it, closing her eyes and willing her heart to slow.

He lingered for a moment outside the closed door, listening. Still feeling her touch on his arm, he reached out, his fingertips tenderly touching the wood that separated them. He turned and walked purposefully away.

Rose stepped out of the steamy room, feeling a hundred percent better, the grey, oversized track suit, hanging loosely on her frame. Struggling back to the sofa, she noticed he'd replaced the first blanket with another, and set out another cup of tea on a saucer, with two small white caplets.

She wrapped herself in the blanket once more, not really needing the warmth any longer, but enjoying the comfort it brought. Picking up the mug, she swallowed the two pills then settled back into the sofa, sipping the liquid, and watching the firelight.

"Rose." The voice whispered and tempted, beckoned her from a distance. Just a few more minutes, she thought. The voice was insistent, accompanied with a gentle nudge on her shoulder.

"Rose." She jerked awake, startling the man looking down at her, as he pulled his hand from her shoulder. Mumbling an incoherent apology, she drowsily watched as he stepped back from her, sat down at the far end of the coffee table, and picked up a tightly rolled bundle that he began unwinding.

Giving her a cautious look, he slowly lifted the blanket away from her sore ankle, scooted closer to the sofa, gingerly sliding his palm under her calf as he raised it, bringing her leg towards him and laying it across his lap.

Groggily she watched him, as his mouth moved. She could hear the inflection and sounds he was made, but her brain refused to translate.

Wrapping her ankle securely with the support bandage, he continued explaining to her, that to be safe, he would need to wake her every hour, per doctor's orders. Examining his handiwork, he carefully replaced the leg, then rewrapped her in the blanket.

Looking up to see if anything was registering, he softly smiled upon seeing the peaceful countenance of an angel.

He stirred the fire, added another log, then retreated to a chair across from the girl. Leaning back, he brought his legs up, placing his feet on the edge of the table, and stared at the vase on the mantle.

The bouquet of Damask roses, paled in comparison to the real beauty that drew his eyes back.


	4. Chapter 4

The charred remains of the burnt log snapped in two. A piece dropping onto the thick pile of blackened ash, covering the bottom of the fireplace, raising a small, dancing cloud of iridescent sparkles, framed inside the thin stream of light, squeezing in through the wooden blinds covering the window.

An old, beautifully engraved grandfather clock resided in one corner, it's etched glass muting the constant tic-toc that faithfully marked the passage of time.

Raising her head, she peered intently into the darkened corner, trying to decipher the placement of the shadowed hands on it's face.

There was the slightest hint of a chill in the air, as she sat up letting the blanket slip away from her body. Swinging her legs off the sofa, she grimaced, remembering too late the sprain she'd suffered earlier. Lightly clutching the aching leg, she lifted it back onto the raised pillows, easing the pain immediately.

Sunlight flooded the room as a door opened, followed by a lone silhouette stepping into the room and casting an elongated, disfigured shadow that stretched across the length of the room, and bent upwards, inching it's way up the far wall.

Turning her head, she was forced to squint at the harsh brightness, barely making out the fuzzy figure carrying what appeared to be a tray that was set before her. Delicate china plates, laden with a variety of breakfast foods, the smell wafting through the room prompted a growl deep in her belly.

A warm chuckle issued from her host, and his eyes dared her to deny she was hungry. He watched delightedly as she eagerly eyed the bounty laid out in front of her, and she unconsciously ran her tongue along her lips. Reaching for the glass of juice she realized he was watching intently.

"You're staring."

His brown eyes crinkled, as a laugh erupted from him. He stood, raising his hands in mock surrender. "Guilty as charged. Although, I'd much defer to I was mesmerized."

He moved with a lions ease, each motion calculated and graceful, as if following a carefully choreographed plan. Pulling aside the tall curtains, and opening the blinds, the room was instantly transformed into a sunny, warm welcoming area, far different from the hushed shadows that bathed it at night.

Sipping the chilled orange juice, her eyes followed him about the room. As he passed the tall wooden timepiece, her gaze was pulled upwards by the sound of chimes, and she choked on the liquid.

He turned, concerned alarm written on his face, as he visually sought any sign of her distress. Taking the napkin he proffered, she dabbed at her watery eyes and coughed again, struggling to catch her breath.

"Anything I may assist with?"

She shook her head emphatically, not quite trusting herself to speak, and held her hand up, signaling for a moment while she regained her composure. It wasn't easy with him hovering beside her, as if waiting for a clue to his next course of action.

"Sorry." She rasped out, letting her eyes drift once more to the clock, and waved at it dismissively. "Bit of a shock, the time."

She made to stand, wincing in pain as the ankle gave way, and she found herself wrapped in strong arms, effortlessly, lowering her back down onto the settee.

"Not going to be covering much distance with that." He inclined his head towards her injured leg.

She sunk back dejectedly against the cushioned lounge, an arm slung across her eyes. Not today, she thought. Everything had been carefully arranged weeks ago, and at this very moment she should have been flying back to London, not sitting here in--

A complete strangers home.

She must have hit her head harder than she thought. How else could she have been so dumb? Now to get herself out of this mess, before she got in any deeper.

He sensed her tensing, and pulled away, creating a bit of distance, and waited.

"Rose?" he asked tentatively.

She heard the anxiety in his voice, but had already made up her mind.

Dropping her arm, she nailed him with the Tyler stare and demanded, "Who are you?" She held his gaze, unwavering. "And how do you know my name?"

He didn't attempt to smile, sensing he was walking on very thin ground.

He began slowly. "The day I ran into you on the beach," He sat, or rather perched himself on the edge of the chair. "it wasn't the first time I'd seen you there."

Pushing herself upright, she braced herself with her arms, hands planted on either side, and refused to relinquish the penetrating stare.

He looked beyond her, picking an obscure point on the wall, one hand idly picking at the nails of the other. Nervousness and a sense of losing control, things unfamiliar to him, held her captivated, while he continued.

"Five days it took me, to finally calm my nerves and approach you." He let out a small laugh, "had it all planned out." Shaking his head, he caught her eye, then quickly dropped his, to inspect his hands. "I discovered your tears were for someone else. That intrigued me."

He missed the puzzled look she gave him. "The coffee shop was an accident. You looked so lonely, and there was a florist next door--"

He shrugged, daring to peer at her from the corner of his eye. "I wanted to see you smile." He wore such an innocent boyish expression, Rose thought of a youngster with his hand caught in the cookie jar.

She ran a hand through her blond hair, pulling it back from her face, contemplating the man across from her.

A few minutes of silence passed, each trying to read the other's eyes.

"You didn't answer my questions."

He looked at her hopefully. "Your picture was in the social pages of the Mirror. Pete Tyler and daughter, Rose."

She couldn't help rolling her eyes at the mention of that particular picture.

"It wasn't unflattering. You had a real smile on your face, not one of those posed fake ones."

He was an enigma. Knowing exactly what to say, but that didn't explain who he was. "Who are you then?" She asked hesitantly.

"My name is Harold Saxon. Friends call me Harry." He seemed almost reluctant to talk about himself, and took a deep breath, then stood and covered the distance between them, extending his hand.

"Rose Tyler, let me introduce myself. My name is Harold Saxon, but you may call me Harry." He beamed widely at her.

Trying not to laugh at his childlike enthusiasm, she took his hand, feeling a slight tingle and noticing her smaller one fit nicely in his warm embrace.

He leaned closer, eyes growing darker, and he became more serious. "And I'd like to get to know you better." He finished, allowing a slow tender smile to appear, and releasing her hand.

"Now, if I may be so bold as to call you Rose," the name rolled of his tongue so easily, and she imperceptibly nodded her assent, still untangling her own mixed emotions.

He slid the ignored breakfast tray towards her. "I'll make a deal with you."

Upon seeing her expression, he laughed heartily. "Only your best intentions in mind, I assure you."

Taking a seat on the other end of the low table, he motioned for her to lay her foot on his lap. "You put at least a sizeable dent in those meager rations provided, while I re-wrap your ankle, and in turn--"

Pausing, as he carefully began unwrapping the material from around her foot, he raised his head meeting her hazel gaze. "You, my dear, may ask any question you desire an answer to."

Before lowering his head once more, she thought she'd caught a mischievous glint in his eye.


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N: Again all mistakes are mine and I'll take all blame for the fluffiness. Thanks to Camilla Sandman for the research. **

Nibbling on the end of a piece of bacon, she tried to make sense of the tangled web of thoughts running through her head. He had told her he would answer any questions she put to him, and she wasn't quite sure where to begin. While mulling over the idea of what question to pose, she watched his practiced and sure motions gradually expose the swollen and darkly bruised skin hidden underneath the wrap.

"You a doctor?"

He had braced himself for any one of numerous, deep secret seeking questions she could have asked, but again found himself taken aback at her candid and amusingly simple train of thought. He shook his head once and continued removing the material from around her ankle, finding it difficult hide his amusement.

"A doctor of medicine, no. Although I've dealt with more than my share of medical emergencies. Some of which does tend to stick."

"But you are a doctor?"

"Physics, electronics and communications." Seeing her brow raise in confusion he continued with a small shrug. "Student of the sciences you might say, unable it seems to get enough of learning."

"So that makes you either a teacher, or?" She was going to let him fill in the blank.

"Research specialist."

"Specialist?"

"A very elaborately complex and intricately complicated one." He added.

"What kind of research?"

"Inaugurating a global cognitive linguistics network."

She paused, sort of understanding, but knowing she would never be able to repeat that to anyone. "In layman's terms."

Without even thinking he threw back, "Currently enlisted to help design and develop a new worldwide communications satellite system."

"Okay," she bit her bottom lip and eyed him skeptically. "So you're very intelligent." His eyes danced brightly.

"You have no idea." Drawing out the no, and grinning at her with a cocky wink.

She rolled her eyes in exaggeration and burst out laughing. "I had another friend who thought he was so impressive."

"As impressive as me? I probably would have liked to have met him, sounds like a very interesting bloke." She slapped at his shoulder playfully, missing it by a few centimeters, thoroughly enjoying the bit of flirting going on.

The light banter continued for a few more moments.

Pulling off the last of the bandage he let it drop in a loose pile onto the floor, while supporting her leg under the calf muscle with his hand. Their eyes wandered over the puffy mass that hardly resembled an ankle, and a frown quickly crossed his face as he carefully rotated the leg allowing a better view of the entire surface.

Studying his reaction caused Rose a bit of apprehension. "'S bad?" She asked, poking timidly at the tight skin, surprised by the warmth radiating from it, and the red tell-tale marks that remained when she pulled her hand back.

Trying to keep the atmosphere light he answered, "A night of clubbing is out." then looked at her with raised eyes and mock seriousness. "Appears you'll be stuck with me for awhile."

Stuck? Here? With him?

"I can't!" She blurted out, her thoughts ahead of her mouth, but still unable to stop herself from vocalizing even though she cringed at the sound of herself being rude and defensive. "I've gotta be in London! There's no way I can stay here. I do appreciate the help, I really do, but I've imposed enough as it is."

Before he could voice his objection she interrupted, almost shouting at the ceiling and anything else that was listening. "I'm s'pose to be home, today, and all I've managed to do is make an utter mess of things." Slumping back, she nearly caught his chin with her toes as her leg jerked and pulled out of his grasp.

Sitting up horrified she tried to apologize. "Sorry." Only to discover he was in fact, smiling broadly. Calmly he directed her leg back to the layered pillows and stood up, walking around the end of the sofa and silently left the room.

She watched him leave with a sense of apprehension, unsure of how to interpret his reaction, and even more hesitant of what her next action should be, as her mobility was strictly limited.

Jackie. Why hadn't she thought to call her mum earlier? Then recalled she had left her mobile at the hotel, thinking she'd only be gone a short while. Feeling sorry for herself, she grabbed another piece of toast and let her eyes roam over her current surroundings once more.

Two more pieces of toast, a few eggs and another strip of bacon later, she was beginning to feel rather sheepish, and confined, wondering if she could possibly blame her outburst on hormones.

Harry still hadn't returned and there had been no sound to indicate that anyone else was about. Well he couldn't have gone far she mused, thinking to give him a few more minutes before calling out, and lay back on the couch using an arm behind her head for a pillow, thinking of ways to apologize.

She let the clouds moving across the sun creating subtle patterns on the ceiling, lull her into a peaceful state, unaware of how heavy her eyelids had become.

Awhile later she heard the sound of voices, no, wait, one voice. One voice doing quite a bit of talking and some laughing and moving closer. Sitting up she realized more than a few minutes had passed as there were shadows stretching across the room and the grandfather clock's face was once again hidden by darkness. The breakfast tray had been removed and a small round glass vase sat in it's stead, filled with several pink petaled flowers. She leaned closer to them, detecting a hint of cinnamon.

"Kanelrose." Startled her head swiveled towards the voice. "Also known as Rosa majalis or, in layman's terms," he paused, holding her mobile out to her, "Cinnamon Rose." Reaching out tentatively she eyed him warily, and heard a familiar voice sounding far away.

"You called my Mum?" she whispered fiercely hoping Jackie couldn't hear.

"No. But I thought it rather rude to ignore the phone a fifth time, so I answered it." He shrugged helplessly, hand held out apologetically.

She turned away putting the phone to her ear. "Mum?"

"No, really, I'm alright, it's just a bad sprain. Still in Norway, yeah. Not sure." Looking around he'd disappeared again. "I don't know Mum, he seems nice enough. No, we actually met a few days ago." Rose filled her mother in on her previous meetings with Harry; convinced her that no one needed to fly up to help her, as she was old enough to handle things, and then asked how the party preparations were going.

Jackie went into a long spiel about the various arrangements and assorted details causing Rose to laugh out loud a few times. As the conversation came to a close, Rose once again reassured her mum she was going to be alright and would be home as soon as possible. "I'll call later. Luv ya Mum."

As if on cue Harry reentered the room. "I've made up the guest room, and took the liberty to put your things from the hotel there."

"I owe you an apology." Her fingers ran absently over the mobile numbers, not daring to look at him.

"Bygones." He stated simply as she felt him next to her. All of a sudden he was leaning over her, scooping her up into his arms. She squeaked and grabbed onto his shirt as he swiftly picked her up.

"Wha--" She wasn't given time to finish.

"Your Mum is a very persuasive woman, Rose Tyler. She told me to take very good care of you, and that is exactly what I intend on doing." She was disconcerted by his hidden strength as he followed a known path through the house, keeping up a monologue the entire way, being ever mindful of the ankle as they entered and exited rooms.

At last, coming to a smaller bedroom, he finally set her down on the single bed surrounded by a sea of hardwood floor. On the nightstand another vase of the cinnamon roses were displayed, their scent permeating the room. The only other furniture, a large oaken wardrobe set against a bay window that overlooked an expansive manicured lawn, reminding Rose of her own backyard.

She was already missing the warmth of his body, the feeling of safety while being in his arms, and blushed slightly as her thoughts went elsewhere for a second. Thinking she should say something, she commented. "You're very tidy." Inwardly she cringed, how lame could someone get?

He gave her a quizzical look, not sure how to respond, or even if he should. "What I mean, most bachelors aren't this neat. It's a beautiful home." She hastened to add, feeling the warmth creeping over her face.

"I only settle for the best." The words were spoken with sincerity and she felt herself at a loss.

"Riiight."

He stepped into the hallway quickly and brought back an aluminum crutch. "This should help your mobility for a bit, although I wouldn't recommend traveling any further than the loo for now." As he pointed to the door opposite. "And should you require anything," he pulled a small square remote from his pocket and laid it on the nightstand. "You only need to press that button and I'll be at your beck and call."

Rose nodded, not trusting herself to speak without embarrassing herself further.

"Any other questions, Rose?" He smiled charmingly at her, and she was sure he could see into her thoughts.

"I'm good. Thank you, for everything." She let her eyes sweep the room, breaking away from his intensive stare.

"Oh, and Rose?" He stopped at the door, turning back towards her. "Your parents anniversary." She waited expectantly. "Is there going to be dancing?"

Rose laughed, "Oh yeah, when Mum throws a party, it's always done up big. Why do you ask?"

"Because I'm planning on being your partner." He smiled widely, leaving Rose to wonder just how that would happen, when Pete and Jackie's anniversary was only two days away.


	6. Chapter 6

This is what results when one can't sleep...it's late, forgive me.

She woke to moonlight, streaming in through the bay window, bathing the room in it's pale light. Muted shadows blended into the rooms darkness, and for a moment she felt lost in the obscurity of the night. As her eyes adjusted to the dimness the previous days events washed over her, and she had to force herself to sit up, ignoring the overwhelming urge of her body to burrow deeper into the soft covers.

The house was quiet, except for the occasional sounds one tended to only hear in the deep stillness of the night, but were lost in the hum of daylight's waking hours, and she was alone.

Alone to sort through her thoughts, and the baffling torrent of emotions welling inside her. The presence of her host, although welcoming, had brought forth long buried feelings she'd once believed herself incapable of experiencing again.

Was there room in her heart for another? And what about her promise of forever?

Having traveled with the Doctor, she knew deep inside, he'd want only the best for her in life. He would expect her to move on and experience all that life had to offer, not sit around waiting and pining for him. And she had moved on, somewhat. Yet each and every day tended to remind her of what was lost to her forever; and how much she missed that wonderful, and mysterious, time traveler whom had taken her to the stars and beyond. How could she ever hope to fill the empty void left, after she'd been torn from his world, by the universe's idea of a cruel joke.

Tired of sitting in bed, she hobbled over to the window, positioning herself so she could easily look out over the grounds below, while keeping her foot elevated. Gazing out over the darkened landscape, her eyes were drawn upwards towards the moon, where thick clouds were beginning to build around it, slowly strangling the orb's brilliance. She watched, as familiar star patterns were disrupted by the dense blanket moving across the sky, leaving patchwork holes amongst the heavens which soon filled in, as the ominous sounds of distant thunder were heard.

Leaning her forehead against the cool pane of glass, she contemplated the approaching storm, feeling as if it reflected her own inner turmoil. The storm grew closer, seeming to hold her spellbound with it's energy.

The angry mass of surging clouds moved relentlessly onward, herded forward by the winds, now buffeting the silhouetted hedges and trees, depositing their watery burden upon the unsuspecting, splattering against the window and trailing downward in tiny rivulets.

Lightning flashed along the outer fringes, jagged streaks bursting unannounced, illuminating the sky mere fractions of a second before an engulfing gloom smothered the night once more, then broadcast it's presence with a mighty rumble of explosive reverberations rattling the framework and causing the windows to vibrate with it's released fury.

As the tempest roared unceasingly around her, she absentmindedly traced the path of raindrops downward to the sill, then repeated the simple action; a calmness infusing her mind, as she passively watched the chaos beyond her shelter. Her breath created a thin cloud of condensation on the glass, expanding and diminishing, mirroring her emotions.

Unconsciously she'd felt his presence when he entered the room, then saw his outline in the reflected light of the doorway. He moved noiselessly across the floor, shadows playing against his face as the lightning drew nearer, and she froze. No words were spoken as they individually regarded the storm, clinging selfishly to their own thoughts, eyes guarded, yet discreetly observing the other.

He settled warily behind her, the cushion sinking with his weight, as he hesitantly brought his arm forward, in his palm rested the dark shape of a small flower. Another flash of light hinted at a subtle pink tinge on the outer petals, as he held the gift steadily in front of her. His warm breath on her shoulder sent a small shiver through her, as she picked the flower from his hand her fingertips brushed against his palm.

"Beautiful." He murmured.

She delicately stroked a petal, feeling the fragile, whiskery silkiness of the bloom against her skin, as she attempted to remain calm while the inner storm raged. "The flower, or the storm?"

His hand moved upwards, lightly sweeping her hair back exposing her neck to the cool air, and whispered, his words tickling her as he leaned closer. "Neither. Tell me what's on your mind?"

Trembling, she fought to hide the emotions threatening to spill over.

Gently laying his hand on her upper back, he stilled himself as she tensed, unready to let go he silently pleaded with her, willing her to trust him, confide in him, believe in him.

"He's never coming back."

Her voice was soft, almost lost in the outside echoes, and it was then he realized her loss. The depth of pain that haunted her soul, the memory of another he could never replace. And yet he continued to hope, and held onto the tiniest of dreams that just maybe, there was room for another.

He tenderly reached out, embracing and pulling her to him, feeling her relax against his chest as he laid his head against hers. Rocking her quietly in his arms, he held her as they watched the storm abate and the stars once more revealed.

Tucking her into bed, he leaned over the sleeping figure; placed the Briar Rose beside her on the pillow, and kissed her forehead.

"I'll be here," he caressed her cheek with another kiss as he stood to leave. "I'll give you the distant stars."


	7. Chapter 7

The Cessna taxied onto the tarmac, showing no signs of slowing as Rose anxiously peered out of the tiny window, amazed at the chaotic rush of airport workers scurrying around the grounded sentients; like ants, swarming over a nest; each individual busy with their separate tasks, yet working together in a seemingly uncoordinated fashion. They passed rows of planes lined in parallel slots, their shiny, sleek noses all pointing inwards as if seeking rest before taking to the skies again.

Beyond the main terminal one could see empty fields surrounded by miles of chain link fence stretching out, running alongside long black ribbons of runway, scattered with painted blacktops, and lined with impeccably straight rows of lights; planes would later use for guidance in the nights darkened hours, but now just spotted, shadowy reminders outlining the outer edges.

The airport was a bustling hive of activity, as plane after plane landed; the air filled with the whine of brakes and rubber squealing against pavement, and the deafening roar of revving engines, as other's began their skyward ascent. From the sleek, giant commercial airliners with their grace; the mid-size commuter planes hopping between the major ports and more remote areas, a lifeline connecting the rural to the world, and then not least, to the smaller twin engines; resembling young birds leaving nests for the first time, and struggling to emulate their larger counterparts as they were buffeted mercilessly by the winds.

So intently focused on the outside scene, she was unaware that Harry had moved across the aisle and was currently occupying the seat beside her.

"Friends of yours?" Leaning forward slightly, his shoulder casually brushed against her own, as he looked out the window ahead of hers and pointed. She caught a glimpse of the two familiar figures just coming into her view, and smiled. The spiky haired blond, arms crossed, leaned nonchalantly against the long, black limousine, while the other paced, hands thrust deep into his pockets, his body following the progress of the plane.

"That's Mickey, my best mate, and his partner Jake." She attempted a half-hearted wave, knowing they probably wouldn't be able to see it, and missed the raised eyebrow at the mention of the word 'partner'.

Harry decided he would pursue that thought later, and concentrated on her smile, that quickly widened in response to the return wave from Mickey. It was not only a smile of recognition, but he saw history in the carefree look she gave the young man, and he couldn't help feeling a slight twinge, knowing it wasn't directed at him.

Before the plane had come to a complete stop, Rose was already hobbling along the aisle; using the back of seats as supports and swinging herself forward onto her good leg, while the other skimmed bare centimeters off the carpeting. Harry was glad he had talked her into the Aircast brace that supported her ankle, before they'd left Norway, as he watched her with a slight disconcerting thought that she was being a bit too careless. Then again, maybe he was just being overly concerned for her well-being. Sighing, he grabbed the aluminum crutch, saw her disappear out the exit and gathered their carry-on bags, easily hoisting them over his shoulder, then proceeded towards the doorway.

Mickey met her at the bottom of the steps, grabbing her in an eager hug and swung her around once before setting her down gently. Rose held his arms to steady herself and laughed.

"What was that for?"

"Glad to see you," he shrugged innocently, "and that you're okay." He looked past her, at the person he assumed was this Harold, that her Mum had been going on about, like he was some hero. Looked pretty ordinary, Mickey surmised, until he found himself looking into the other's eyes.

Mickey blinked.

Rose gratefully accepted the crutch Harry held out to her, and smiled her thanks.

"Harry, I'd like you to meet Mickey." She motioned towards Mickey, suddenly becoming aware of a thick blanket of tension, almost as if a heavy fog had settled between them with Rose trapped in the midst. The two men stood locked in a silent battle of wills, brown eyes piercing the other, caught in their own version of a medieval war, missing only the cumbersome armour, deadly weapons and hordes of bodies, piled in the dirt around them. Rose felt as if she was suffocating, unable to draw a breath.

Harry was the first to break the stalemate, stretching forward he forced a smile, reserved for just such occasions as this, and offered his hand at a distance, knowing Mickey would need to step forward to accept.

"Harold. Harold Saxon."

The younger man seemed taken aback, then quickly recovered, stepping forward as he bridged the distance.

The air grew even thicker as they clasped hands, their battle now escalating to the physical realm. Rose felt the electrical charge in the air and watched almost fascinated as the two combatants fought to exert their dominance. In the span of a few seconds, muscles became taut like a tightened coil ready to be sprung, knuckles turned white from the strain and intensity of their grips. If there hadn't been such a resolute determination in their eyes, Rose would have likened it to a pair of strutting peacocks, but this was a bit frightening and more than a little overwhelming.

Two men, one she'd known for years and who'd seemed to designate himself her protector, even though their relationship had at one point been more than friends, and the other, a complete stranger up until a few days ago, now eagerly over-possessive, stood refusing to give ground, as if engaged in some ancient ritual demanding what, Rose had no idea.

It was Jake that finally parted the two as he sidled next to Rose, giving her a small peck on the cheek and extending a hand towards Harry.

"Harold? Name's Jake." He grinned boyishly at Harry, acting oblivious to the hostilities.

Snatching his hand back, Harry shot a dangerous look at Mickey then dropped a friendly mask into place as he faced Jake. "Hello Jake, nice to make your acquaintance."

Rose was astonished at the speed with which he changed, and shivered in spite of the days warmth. She continued studying Harry's face and wondered what might possibly be going on in his mind.

Jake nodded towards the waiting vehicle. "Ride's waitin', might as well take advantage of it." Stepping between Mickey and Harry he directed Rose towards the Limo, still grinning widely. "Best not to keep your Mum waiting." He held the back door open for Rose, who climbed in and was quickly followed by Harry. Jake shut the door behind the pair and turned on Mickey. "You're riding shotgun," he growled, indicating the passenger side. "And later, maybe you'd like to explain what that was all about?" Mickey scowled, casting another look towards the rear of the vehicle, and seeing only his reflection staring back at him, huffed as he slid sulkily into the front seat.

Rose thankfully escaped the confines of the limousine, eager to distance herself from the brewing storm. Jake had assumed the role of mediator; more to break the suffocating silence, as Mickey refused to participate in any attempt at conversation other than one syllable grunts when prompted, and Harry pointedly ignored the sullen figure. Rose could feel the insistent, heavy fingers of a migraine, threatening to crush what little patience she had thus far managed to retain a hold on, as the pressure behind her eyes increased slowly: a dull, steady beat, pulsing in time to an unknown source.

There was a squeal of delight as a small blond comet shot out of the house, launching itself towards Rose. She bent, scooping up the tow-headed youngster, who yelled delightedly.

"Wosie!" Rose hugged her younger sister, then began rubbing noses with her, eliciting a fit of giggles.

"How's our little princess?" She asked, pushing strands of blond hair out of the girl's eyes, and realizing her sudden stillness was due to the man standing behind Rose. "Violet," she glanced back over her shoulder. "This is Harry."

Violet's eyes traced over Harry's face; both carefully studying the other, before Violet pressed close to Rose in an attempt to hide from him by burying her head under Rose's chin. Out of sight out of mind, he thought. If it was only that easy.

Mickey plucked the youngster from Rose's arms and carried her towards the house, but not before one last menacing glare in Harry's direction. By the time Rose had turned to gauge his reaction, he was already smiling innocently at her, as if there was nothing more natural in the world.

"What's with you and Mickey? You two are acting like a couple of peacocks." Harry's eyebrows shot up and a wicked grin crossed his face.

"Is my strutting that obvious?"

"Obvious? Yeah, you could say that. He's my best mate, even when I didn't ask him to, and he has always been there for me when I needed someone, you know?" Harry just nodded, letting her continue. "Besides Mum, he's the only one that knows..." Her eyes were distant as if she was looking into the past, and he felt like she was no longer standing next to him.

"Rose?" His quiet voice broke through her reverie, and she realized she had forgotten what she was going to say.

"Sorry," she mumbled, the throbbing in her head forcing her to grimace in pain as her fingertips massaged above her temple.

He was immediately beside her, his arm encircling her waist, steadying and supporting her, while he led her towards the open door. "Come on, we can continue this discussion later. Right now young lady, I suggest we get you inside and find a place where you are able to rest."

Not going to be hard, thought Rose, since I'm home. She detected a familiar musky smell; reminding her of another man, in another time and place, as she leaned gratefully into his leather jacket, allowing his strength to guide them forward.

There was something about Harry, something odd about the way he reminded her of the Doctor, yet nothing alike. She would talk to Mickey without Harry around; just as soon as her head stopped pounding and she was able to think clearly again. Then the world went black.

Her eyes opened slowly, taking in the well known and comfortable surroundings of her bedroom; for a moment she wondered if she had been dreaming. Turning her head she found the purest white, globular rose lying next to her pillow, it's fragrance subtly distinct. A soft smile played on her lips, as she reached for the unblemished rose.

If this was a dream, she was beginning to hope she wouldn't wake up.


	8. Chapter 8

A/N : Pink Compassion Flower pink symbolizes - Please believe me

Rose fiddled with the hair clip, idly pushing it back and forth between her hands before twisting it in her fingers and letting it spin on the tabletop, only to repeat the motions when the brown blur slowed again. She sighed, realizing she was only wasting time as she glanced at the alarm clock that read four forty, in large red numbers. Ten minutes since the last time she'd checked.

She slumped a bit further in the chair, her reflection dropped in the mirror making it appear as if she was resting her chin on the smooth counter. She caught a flicker of movement just over her shoulder and glanced up to see Mickey standing in the doorway, hands shoved in his pockets.

"Can I come in?" He asked, already shuffling forward taking a seat on the edge of her bed. He stared at the carpet for a moment, and Rose turned her attention back to the metal clip.

"Do you even know who he is, Rose?" Mickey finally blurted out.

"Wha-" She'd expected him to bring up Harry, especially after the cold reception earlier, but wasn't prepared for an argument with her best mate. "What are you on about? Of course I don't know that much about him. Did you expect me to know his life history in a few short days?"

"Well, I looked him up." He spat out accusingly. She turned to face her friend, and found Mickey intently studying the carpet. Rose had a sinking feeling she wasn't going to like what he had to tell her.

Twisting in the chair she toed his leg with her good foot. "C'mon, let's hear it. How bad can it be?" Mickey raised his head, let out a long exhale and regarded Rose.

"He doesn't exist." Rose shook her head. Mickey was just having her on, and here she had begun to think it was something serious; some piece of information that would turn Harry into an unlikeable monster. Instead it seemed Mickey was just jealous.

Mickey leaned forward, slowly repeating his statement as if she had grown deaf in the last few moments. "He. Doesn't. Exist. Rose."

"What do you mean he doesn't exist? You saw him. Touched him even, and now you say he doesn't exist? Bit of a stretch even for you, isn't it?" Standing, she used the edge of the vanity for support, and gingerly limped to the wardrobe, pulling out the dress she would wear for the evening.

"There are no records of a Harold Saxon before-" His voice trailed off. "Before Canary Wharf." He finished quietly.

Rose stared at the crimson dress, her fingers lightly caressing the fine material. Was it possible that she wasn't the only person out of place after the events of that day? Caught in a parallel universe herself, along with Mickey and Jackie: if they were all from an alternate reality, it only stood to chance that there might be others.

"Does it matter?"

Mickey jumped up, spluttering. "Of course it matters! You don't know who he is, or where he's from."

"He could be alien, yeah?" Rose couldn't resist the barb, then immediately regretted the words as Mickey's face registered shock, then the painful remembrance of another man that had at one time replaced him in her life. She called futilely after him as he stormed out of the room, nearly bowling Jackie over in his haste.

"Everything all right, sweetheart?

Rose dropped back into the chair with an exasperated sigh, her head tilted back as she gazed up at her Mum. "Yeah, just fine."

"Mickey seemed a bit out of sorts."

"Why does he always have to go prying?" Jackie ran a hairbrush through her daughter's long hair, working out the tangles.

"What's he gone and done now?"

"He says Harry doesn't exist, at least not before Canary Wharf."

"Harry?" Jackie smiled knowingly, as Rose dropped her eyes to the counter, a slight flush infused her cheeks. "He seems nice enough. At least when I talked to him on the phone the other day."

Rose surprised at this admission began to turn her head, but Jackie held her firmly, just like when she had been much smaller, and continued to fuss over her daughter's hair.

"By the way, what did you two talk about?"

"Oh, you know. How he had found you, was making sure you were alright, and that he'd have you home by today." Finishing up she leaned down to give Rose a hug, her chin rested on her daughter's shoulder. "I'm happy for you, Rose." So many unspoken words passed between them as they stared at each other in the mirror.

Jackie believed her daughter could make her own decisions. She'd done a lot of growing up in the past few years, and Jackie trusted her enough to know those decisions would be the right ones. Rose wondered if it was time to move on: to finally say goodbye to the past and look towards the future, to live that 'fantastic life' the Doctor had alluded to. It certainly didn't mean she would have to make any major life long decisions this instance, but rather allow herself the idea of possibilities. And there was, it seemed, a world of possibilities just waiting.

"Gotta run, luv. I'll see you tonight." Rose was pulled sharply out of her reverie as Jackie planted a quick kiss on her cheek and exited the room, leaving Rose alone with her thoughts.

No harm in attempting to live a fantastic life, Rose thought as she eyed the dress hanging beside her.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Rose was perched on the edge of a barstool, just enough so that she was able to keep the weight off of her ankle. The table she had managed to procure early on held the remnants of her two previous drinks, and still only one occupant. She glanced idly at her watch for what seemed like the thousandth time, then back to the entryway, wondering what could possibly be keeping Harry.

Jake caught her eye from the other side of the room and raised a querying eyebrow at the absence of a presence next to her, then slowly made his way through the throng of people on the dance floor.

"Where's Harold?" Rose hid the sting of hurt well as she answered back.

"Where's Mickey?" Jake nodded towards the crowd he'd just escaped from. "Somewhere in that pile of folks."

Rose scanned the large number of people, wondering how many she might actually know. "Mum sure knows how to throw a party." She finished her drink, setting it with the other empty glasses.

Rose gave Jake a warm smile she brushed at imaginary lint on his arm and added. "And don't you look dashing in your tux." Jake laughed and agreed with her as he leaned forward and gave her a one-armed hug.

"And you're the prettiest girl here."

"I'd take offense, if I thought you were hitting on my date." Both Jake and Rose started at the voice. Jake pulled away quickly and Rose's face lit up when she caught sight of him. "Jake wasn't it?" Harold extended a hand towards the younger man.

"That's right." Jake gave him an easy grin, both men sized up the other. "Just making sure our girl was doing alright." He stressed the our, and left Harry to interpret it how he would.

Rose silently thanked Jake for his concern, and yet thought it humorous how men acted so protective, if not overly possessive most of the time. Jake gave her hand a quick squeeze and offered the usual excuses before he walked away and lost himself in amongst the others.

Harry reached for her hand, "A Compassion Rose" he stated as he slid a delicate pink rose over her wrist.

She smiled at his thoughtfulness. "Thank you. It's beautiful"

Pulling her to her feet, he took a step back and admired her. "You're beautiful." Rose felt the warmth creep up her neck as she watched Harry's gaze travel downwards, than ever so slowly back up. If he hadn't been holding her hand, she would have sworn that his eyes weren't the only thing caressing her body.

As if on cue the lights began to dim, the crowd parted, and in the center of the dance floor captured by a single spotlight, danced Pete and Jackie to their song.

Rose couldn't remember a time her Mum had looked so radiant. She deserved this, Rose thought: deserved this second chance with a man who willingly called her his wife, and had given them both a new home. The music continued, a well-known romantic melody she'd heard heard often growing up, and felt the all too familiar floodgate of memories threatening to open.

Harry slid an arm around her waist, and whispered in her ear. "Come with me." She felt his cool hand brush across her bare back as he pulled her to him, and she reached up to drape an arm across his shoulders. Supporting her weight he led her slowly out onto the balcony leaving behind the enclosed space. She hadn't realized just how suffocating it had been inside, but now, looking out over the garden bathed in moonlight, and seeing the clear night sky she felt as if an unforeseen weight had been lifted.

Stepping forward she braced her arms on the rail and let the cool night air wash over her as she inhaled deeply. She tried hard not to think too much about the hand that now rested at the small of her back, the heat from that one small touch coursed through her body. The hand moved up her bare back and left a trail of cool air in it's wake. She felt him watch her, and knew he enjoyed the hint of reactions he elicited from her body. She turned as his fingertips traced over her shoulder, and broke the contact as he pushed back a loose curl, slid it behind her ear, and then let his fingers drop to her neck, where he seemed to hesitate. She watched his darkened eyes follow the path of his fingers as he stepped closer, his lips parted slightly as he leaned in.

She tensed.

He jerked upright and pulled his hand away as if he'd been burned. His face a mask of emotions from lust to surprised shock, and for that split second, Rose wished she'd just drop through the earth.

Rose turned away hurriedly to hide the disappointment on her own face. Mentally she chided herself, squeezed her eyes shut, and fought back the urge to scream.

"There you are--" Mickey froze upon seeing the dangerous look Harry shot his way. Then quickly adopted a carefree grin. "See you made it." He didn't bother to hide the fact he wasn't at all happy to see the other standing next to Rose.

"No thanks to you." Harry smirked. Here we go again thought Rose.

Wait. She glared at Mickey. "What did you do?" Ignoring Harry, he pointedly kept his eyes on Rose and gave her an innocent smile.

"Me? What makes you think I did anything?"

"Because I know you, Mickey Smith." Mickey gulped. He knew that look. Jackie had perfected it and passed it on to her daughter.

Rose stood with her hands on her hips, and Harry had to stifle a laugh at the way Mickey cringed under the scrutiny.

"Righhht. I've gotta run. Just makin' sure every thing's okay." He finished with an unspoken threat in his eyes directed at Harry, before he turned to leave.

Could things get much more complicated, thought Rose as she leaned back against the rail, she pinched the bridge of her nose, and hoped she might wake up shortly to discover this was just the result of a bad dream.

"I'm sorr-" His finger stopped her in mid-sentence.

"Dance?" He cocked his head, listening as the band resumed with a slow tempo song.

She smiled, caught her tongue between her teeth, and realized she wouldn't have to move her feet at all. Ever the gentleman, Harry stepped forward and let his hands rest lightly around her waist. Shyly she reached up, slid her hands behind his neck. They stood like that, swaying to the music, as if tentatively testing the waters, then Harry pulled her against him, wrapped her in his arms and let himself get lost in the feel of her soft body next to his.

Rose thought she could fly. She closed her eyes and let her mind drift, once again she heard the most wonderful sound.

It was the most wonderful sound she'd ever heard in her life, the sound of two heartbeats, the sound of home. She was finally home. Back where she belonged.

Except, it was all wrong.

Harry felt her whole body tense and at that moment she pulled back and shrieked "NO!" Hammering at him with her fists, she thrust him backwards and sought escape.

Turning too quickly, her ankle gave out and she crumpled to the ground. Harry stepped forward was forcefully shoved backwards by a angry Jake, while Mickey dropped next to Rose.

"He's wrong Mickey. He's wrong. It's not him."

"I can explain-" Jake refused to listen as he planted a hand solidly against Harry's chest.

"Back off, before you and me both regret it." Jake's face was impassive as he stared down Harry, who watched in silence as Mickey led rose off the balcony.

Harry slumped dejectedly onto the ground and dropped his head into his arms. How would he be able to fix this? And why did he care? What was it about this particular human girl that held such a fascination for him?

He looked skyward and wished he could be out there, amongst the stars again.

**A/N : Pink Compassion Flower is the icon above. A pink rose symbolizes : please believe me**


	9. Chapter 9

A/N : Nephitos Rose symbolizes infatuation , I claim all mistakes.

Harry sat with his arms crossed over his knees, fingers picking absently at the buttons on his sleeve. His mind racing as he recalled the evenings events, and wondering where he had pushed too hard. His senses had picked up her arousal, raised body temperature, increased heart rate, all indications that he was doing the right thing. He'd even backed off when she'd first tensed at his touch, willing to give her time. Why did the female have to be such a complicated creature?

Take the blond kid, watching him from across the way. Probably under the impression that he was intimidating; with his stone faced features, glowering eyes, and fisted hands. Harry had to stifle a laugh at the predictability of Rose's friends, earning him another piercing gaze from Jake, which he promptly ignored and continued watching the button twist in his fingers. Now, if he could just find the key to unlocking his seeming infatuation with one particular Rose Tyler.

The night's cold was becoming a bit numbing, and he pushed himself up to lean heavily against the balcony rail, aware that Jake had tensed like a coiled snake. Allowing the sneer he felt turn to a lopsided smirk, he gave a sideways glance to the younger man. "Are we going to be spending much more time out here?" Getting no verbal response he ventured on. "I'm only asking as the temperature seems to be dropping."

"You didn't appear to be too concerned with that a moment ago."

That small barb hit the wrong nerve and Harry stepped menacingly towards Jake, who back pedaled a step at the sudden movement. "I was embracing a warm body." Harry let his eyes drift slowly over Jake's frame. "And I'm seriously doubting you're a fitting substitute for that," he finished dismissively.

Stepping past the startled man, Harry strode back into the large room where the heat and noise from the party goers assaulted him. The smell of cheap perfumes, mixed with sweat and alcohol, hung like a cloud. He scanned the room quickly, spotting Jackie and Pete laughing amongst a group of folks, occupied in their own little world. Not recognizing any other faces, he continued towards the entrance. He hurriedly brushed past the concierge, who kept his customary greeting to himself, upon seeing the scowl on the departing man's face. Taking the steps two at a time while shrugging into his coat, he ignored the valet and flagged a cab for himself, stopping abruptly at the edge of the kerb.

She was gone, and Mickey had taken her. But where? The two most logical places would be back to her home, or to Mickey's flat, the thought becoming a white searing heat inside him. Harry had no idea where Mickey lived, so he'd go with instinct for the moment.

He shouldn't have been surprised when two black SUVs pulled in front of the cab, forcing the driver to swerve up and onto the walk, then spilled out a half dozen armed men, before coming to a complete stop. He was quickly surrounded by uniformed men, weapons hanging at their sides within easy reach.

Inwardly sighing, he pulled gloves from his coat pocket, keeping his face calm. Inside he was seething with resentment towards Mickey, who was doing all within his power to forestall Harry's reunion with Rose, and it was currently working in the younger man's favor.

"Mr Saxon," the bass voice addressed him. Two dark red bars on the man's shoulder and a pistol strapped on his waist apparently indicated rank. Harry nodded, unimpressed with the show of force, after all, it wasn't like these guys were actually threatening him. "Sir, we've been asked to escort you back to your hotel." The speaker indicated the black vehicles with a sweep of his arm. Harry looked past them towards the distressed cab driver and nodded.

"If it's all the same, I've already got a cab." He signaled to the driver, who was still looking puzzled and made to step towards the waiting auto. Harry pulled up short, finding his way blocked by the speaker, who was now standing in front of him again. Annoyed at the man's persistence, Harry took a moment to assess the other individual before dropping his voice and leaning forward. "I don't think I'm making myself clear." Harry watched the man swallow as small line of sweat began to line his upper lip. "Tell Mr Smith, I'm not interested," he finished with a low growl, hoping to get his point across.

Touching two fingers in mock salute, Harry took a step away as the other man reached for his forearm. Letting out a pained gasp, the man dropped to his knees in front of Harry, staring at his hand contorted in an awkward angle.

The unmistakable sound of safeties being switched off caused Harry to pause, as he leaned over his attacker, his leer turning to a forced smile. Releasing his grip on the man's hand he immediately pulled him upwards, draped an arm across the other's shoulders, and walked the short distance to the first SUV. "Of course, how could one refuse such a warm invitation?" Harry playfully patted his new found friend on the chest, hopped into the passenger seat of the vehicle and quickly shut the door, leaving the man standing speechless.

Harry paced the length of the room, feeling like a caged animal. The Torchwood retinue had insisted on following him to the penthouse suite door, stationing themselves outside, and looking through the sliding glass he noticed the not so subtle figures watching the other exits. There was nothing for him to do but wait.

Pouring himself a scotch, he downed it immediately, and then poured another. How long would Mickey the idiot deem it necessary to keep him waiting? He lifted the phone receiver and upon hearing the faint tell tale click of tracing equipment, ordered room service to hide his real intention. Glancing towards the laptop, he guessed that had been bugged as well, not to mention if he cared to go looking, he was sure he could uncover an assortment of mini microphones and cameras throughout the room.

He toed his shoes off, loosened his tie and unbuttoned the top of his shirt, falling back on the lounge and placing his feet on the coffee table. Pointing the remote towards the flat screen he let the sounds of the latest football highlights keep his visitors entertained and pulled out his mobile. A few minutes later, seemingly satisfied, he stuffed the phone back into his pocket, placed an arm behind his head and let himself relax.

x x x x x x x x x

Mickey drove them back to Pete's place, both silently lost in their own thoughts, until Mickey spoke up. "I told you there was something wrong with him."

Rose looked towards her best friend, unsure of how to put her feelings into words, and still a bit shaken with her discovery. "What if it's me that's wrong?" she asked quietly.

Mickey's mouth opened then closed as he swerved back into his own lane. "You can't be serious, Rose. I told you, he doesn't exist."

"Well he must exist," she shot back. "He's a living, breathing person, just like you or I."

Mickey shook his head. "Look Rose, we've both seen things. Things that aren't easy to explain. But, this Harry Saxon isn't who he says he is, which makes him dangerous." He stole a quick glance towards her, noting her furrowed brow. "What is it?" he prompted.

Rose shrugged, leaning her head against the glass and stared at the passing scenery. "C'mon Rose. You don't fall head over heels for some guy, then run screaming from them without something going on." Mickey pressed on. "You can take care of yourself," he mused. "So, since he was still standing--" Rose couldn't help the small smile that formed at Mickey's reference.

She took a deep breath, unsure of where to begin. But Mickey was right, they'd shared a lot of things together and he was only concerned for her. "The first day I met him, it was on the beach in Norway--"

Mickey listened intently as Rose told him about her and Harry's first meeting, and then the subsequent encounter at the cafe. By the time she finished with telling Mickey everything, up to their meeting him at the airport, they had been parked in front of the house for awhile, the engine left running to provide heat.

Mickey laid a hand on Rose's shoulder and waited until she looked at him. "There's more," he stated simply. She nodded, dropping her eyes.

"The first time he held me," her voice quavered slightly. "I thought I felt two heartbeats." She bit her bottom lip, remembering how familiar and welcome that realization had been earlier in the evening, and fought back the rush of tears at the memories it invoked.

Mickey pulled her into a hug, willing to let her gather her thoughts. "When I felt it again tonight," her voice broke, she wiped quickly at her tearing eyes, trying not to break down again.

"I'm right here, Rose." Mickey rocked her and made soothing sounds.

Rose pulled back, the black mascara streaking her cheeks and whispered pleadingly. "Could it be him?" Mickey knowing exactly whom she meant, shook his head, embracing her once more.

"I dunno. But I'll promise you this. I will find out," he stated emphatically.

As Mickey drove away, Rose checked the message on her mobile. She stared, puzzling at the picture of a white climbing rose with the words Nephitos Rose underneath. Closing the phone, she turned and slowly made her way into the house, wondering if she should hope or fear over the answers Mickey would find.


	10. Chapter 10

A/N: Dogwood Rose symbolizes pain and pleasure -- part one

Finishing the scotch, he listened absentmindedly to the clink of ice cubes hitting together at the bottom of the glass. His fingers, wrapped around the glass, were damp from the beaded condensation that gathered along the skins edge. He breathed into the glass, watching the warm air create a wide pattern of heavy vapor, hiding his fingers for a moment before quickly evaporating.

Growing bored he let his head drop onto the back of the sofa and stared upwards in silence at the swirl of paint patterns that marked the ceiling. Setting the empty glass on his thigh, he ignored the cool moisture that soaked into the thin material of his trousers. With his free hand, he unbuttoned the shirt further, pondering if he should shrug out of the jacket as well, but didn't feel like moving much further at this point.

What was taking Mickey? Or was the idea to bore the prisoner to death, hoping they would be happy to finally be doing anything, they would spill all the world's deep dark secrets. Harry exhaled slowly, letting his eyes close, then was reaching once more for the remote. The football highlights had now been replaced with a caller talk in show, and the last thing he wanted hear was anyone besides him whining.

Thumbing leisurely through the numerous channels offered, he toyed momentarily with the idea of giving way to his unsated desire, before the thought of Mickey interrupting prompted him to continue channel surfing. He grimaced in the knowledge that he should have been discovering what it was that made a particular female blush, then shook the thought from his head. That could wait.

Finally, settling on a rerun of the Telepatch Kids, he tossed the remote onto the sofa. The similarities between the two realities, never ceased to be oddly interesting.

He shifted, allowing himself to sink further into the cushions, if Mickey wanted to play games, he was going to get some rest. He set the glass down beside himself, crossed his arms and let his breathing slow. His eyelids grew heavy and he allowed himself to drift off, seeing blond hair and a shy smile looking down on him.

Rose tossed and turned, unable to still her thoughts. Giving in to her restlessness, she reached for the small lamp next to her bed turning the darkness in her room into a soft golden glow.

She ran a finger over the white bloom that sat on the stand, seeming to soak up the lamplight. Boule de Neige, she'd looked up its meaning only to find it slightly vague: only for thee.

The Doctor, her Doctor, had used roses to convey his feelings for her, in what seemed like another lifetime. Was Harry another incarnation, perhaps an earlier version? That would explain why he seemed hesitant, or was it possible that there was another version of the Doctor. Yet, he'd said the Time Lords use to be able to travel between realities.

What if it was a completely different Time Lord? But then she immediately chided herself, remembering the Doctor had once told her he would be able to feel the others in his mind.

Still the question went around in her head. Just who was Harry Saxon? He appeared quite human, as had the Doctor. He didn't prattle on for days, or dance wildly around a TARDIS console. In fact, come right down to it, he seemed a normal bloke when one didn't think to hard on the double heartbeat.

Trying to silence the voices and questions in her head, Rose opened her mobile, while gathering some clothes. Pausing, she gave the screen a puzzled look, hit a few buttons and listened again. Harry's cell was disconnected? One thought jumped out and she hurriedly pushed a few more buttons, holding the phone between her ear and shoulder while slipping into a pair of jeans.

"Mickey? It's Rose, yeah, I couldn't sleep." She took the phone from her ear momentarily as she pulled a shirt over her head. "What did you find out from Harry?" She stopped. "Why haven't you talked to him yet?" A feeling of dread began creeping through her. "Wait until I get there. No, I've been thinking, and I'll be all right talking to him." She hoped that wasn't a lie, and hurriedly grabbed a set of keys, the pink hoodie and placing a crutch under her arm, set off. "Just wait until I get there, yeah? Mickey?" Cursing under her breath she pocketed the mobile and made her way slowly down the hall. Now to remember which hotel Harry had told her he was staying at?

The firm rapping at the door brought Harry back from his pleasant dream, dropping him back into harsh reality. Room service he thought, and yelled. "Enter." Not bothering to turn and acknowledge his visitor he gave a quick wave towards the bar. "Over there is fine," he instructed, before realizing that it was Mickey standing beside the sofa and not a waiter.

Difficult to find good help these days, he mused thrusting his empty glass towards Mickey. "Scotch." Harry didn't have to hold the empty container for long, as Mickey, snatching the glass from his hand walked to the bar, while Harry remained obliviously enchanted watching the antics displayed on the telly. The only sounds other than the programme, were the unmistakable rattle of ice cubes dropping into a glass. Harry smiled in triumph.

Mickey returned, setting one of the drinks on the table with a plonk, ignoring Harry's open hand, and settled into a chair opposite the sofa. Softly sighing, Harry punched the mute button and swapped the remote for his new drink. Leaning back he swished the amber liquid around the edge of the glass as if daring it to spill over.

"Who are you?" Mickey finally broke the silence.

"Harold Saxon." As if that wasn't obvious.

"Not good enough."

"Well I am sorry, but that's what is printed on my passport, driving permit, bank statement, even the University certificates on my wall. Would you rather I was Albert Einstein, Thomas Edison, Neil Armstrong, Winston Churchill?"

Mickey glowered at him. "You know what I'm talking about," he spat, leaning forward, elbows resting on his knees.

"Nope." Harry popped the p for emphasis, enjoying the others look of barely contained anger.

"You stay the hell away from Rose until I have answers."

Harry felt his jaw clench. Who the hell did this young pup think he was coming into Harry's room and threatening him. Time to put someone in his place.

Harry stood, the storm barely contained. "You've worn out your welcome here. I trust you can find your way to the door?" Striding past the seated man, Harry took a long drink, stopping in front of the sliding door. The darkness outside allowing him to watch his reflection as he grimaced from the sting of the alcohol burning its way down his throat.

Mickey had gotten to his feet as Harry walked past, turning to face him. "Are you the Doctor?" he asked forcefully.

Harry's hand froze, the glass barely touching his lower lip. Had he heard correctly? Quickly taking another swallow, trying to steady his racing heart, he watched the liquid slosh in the glass. "Yes, I'm a Doctor."

"That's not what I asked," Mickey stated quietly, his words coated with a dangerous undertone.

Harry shrugged, trying to remain outwardly calm. "Then I don't understand." He was surprised how steady he was able to keep his voice, as his thoughts were becoming a haphazard jumble of possibilities.

The Doctor. Could he dare to believe, to even think Mickey was referencing his one and only nemesis? It wasn't possible to have an alternate, which only left the impossibility that the Doctor had travelled to this reality.

Before the destruction of his home world Gallifrey, travel between realities had been quite common. One of the aftermaths to the Time Wars was the eradication of those pathways, at least not without tearing the very fabric of reality. Had the Doctor found a way, and what was his connection to Mickey, then his thoughts turned to Rose. Was she, did she--

Harry was lost in his own musings, and the flicker of light across the sliding window came too late as he felt the sharp sting of a needle prick his neck. The glass of scotch fell from his grasp as he reached for the side of his neck and the source of discomfort. Idiot he thought, attempting to turn his body, which was unnaturally unresponsive, as a creeping blackness stole over him.

The last thing he heard was the shattering of glass as he fell to the tile.


	11. Chapter 11

This takes place in the midst of part 10...just a missing scene I thought I would add in.

He shifted, allowing himself to sink further into the cushions, if Mickey wanted to play games, he was going to get some rest. He set the glass down beside himself, crossed his arms and let his breathing slow. His eyelids grew heavy and he allowed himself to drift off, seeing blond hair and a shy smile looking down on him.

Harry watched with fascination as the figure leaned closer. The blond hair framing her face fell towards him in a soft whispering wave, making one think of angels. He moved his hand moving upwards to cup her cheek. As his fingers slid across the smooth skin, his thumb tracing her cheekbone, he could feel the essence of her racing through his veins, he knew he wouldn't want to stop until he claimed her, as his.

Staring mesmerized as she drew nearer, the warmth of her breath caressing his face, he dropped his eyes to her slightly parted lips, wondering momentarily if they were as soft as they looked. Giving up the battle of self control when the tip of her tongue appeared and left a hint of moisture on her upper lip, he leaned forward to press his lips to hers, disappointed when he felt her pull back.

Creating distance, she didn't break the contact of his hand, turning her head slightly and kissing his palm, and running her tongue over the heel of his hand, she continued planting kisses and lightly sucking on the inside of his wrist. Currents of electricity shot through him as his heart rate increased, unaware his breathing was becoming shallower, he could only watch her lips meet his sensitive skin.

Her hand slid over the back of his, and he allowed her to pull his hand away from her face, content that some touch remained. She began kissing his palm, lightly cradling his hand as she explored the lines etched in his palm, than teasingly running the tip of her tongue over his pinkie finger. Reaching the top she slowly pulled the finger into her mouth, swirling her tongue around the entire surface before releasing it, only to start the same motions with the ring finger.

Trembling from her sensuous touch, Harry was forced to shift as his clothing had suddenly become constricting. Swallowing hard, he fought the urge to pull her to him. Patience he thought, although it was becoming a difficult battle as her tongue continued stroking each finger. His other hand reflexively clenched and unclenched, the palm moist with sweat from anticipation. Reaching for her waist, he was stopped just as the pads of his fingers made contact with the material of her dress. With her free hand she encircled his wrist, pulling him away from her body, she was going to drive him insane.

All it would take was a simple movement to reverse their positions, but something held him back. Curiosity, or the innate desire to see how much control he was willing to relinquish; and to a simple human female, wouldn't the Society laugh at that, except they were no more, so it was only the voices in his head he had to quiet. Pushing those thoughts to the back of his mind, he once again fought to concentrate solely on the feelings Rose was evoking in him.

It had been so long, another lifetime it seemed, since he'd allowed himself to feel beyond the physical. He had only been aware of one other that could possibly elicit such strong emotions, and yet this creature before him was drawing him into a tangled web. One he wasn't sure he wanted to escape, for now.

Rose held both of Harry's arms out from herself when she'd finished exploring his hand. He didn't dare move and break the spell she was weaving, instead letting her observe him. He watched entranced as her eyes drifted over his face as if memorizing each feature, then slowly dropped downwards, her tongue playing deliciously over her lips and he felt himself twitch in response. She raised her head and he found himself captured by her intense stare. Unaware until now of the depth those eyes held, he felt as if he could fall into them and lose himself.

Involuntarily he began to reach towards her face, the overwhelming desire to touch, to experience, to consume was beginning to burn within, and he was powerless to stop.

Rose tilted her head back and laughed, breaking eye contact. Harry realized he had been holding his breath, and gasped hungrily for air as she pushed his arms back, leaning over him as she held him against the sofa. Her face close enough he could feel her breath. She avoided direct contact with his eyes, playfully teasing him with invisible kisses over his face, pulling back as he half heartedly lunged forward to bridge the distance. He chuckled, falling back against the cushions in mock resignation.

Kneeling onto the sofa, slowly straddling his legs, Rose leaned forward and brushed her lips against Harry's as if offering an apology. Returning her tentative kiss, he was unaware for a few moments she no longer held his hands so intent was he on the feel of her lips against his. Warm, soft, moist, the sensation was intoxicating. He opened his mouth in response to her insistence, and soon their tongues were duelling for dominance.

As her arms entwined around his neck pulling them closer his hands found their way to her waist, just the feel of her sent shivers through him. Gripping her tightly he used her to ground himself, wanting nothing more than to thrust upwards, imagining her reaction, he let out a small moan.

Pulling back, Rose leaned her forehead against Harry's, both struggling for air. Harry felt the warmth softness of kisses against his eyebrows, and closed his eyes. The kisses moving over his eyelids and trailing down over his cheek, her breath against his ear and a tongue tracing an outline, teeth playfully nipping at his lobe before she pulled it between her lips and sucked on it.

Harry let his hands trail over her hips, lowering until they found they bottom of her dress. Sliding one hand under the material he slowly retraced his path upwards, stopping only when he reached the edge of lace panties, letting his fingers trace over the delicate material. Even as she tensed under his touch, he felt her tongue and lips moving below his jaw line, stopping at his pulse point where she slowed and concentrated her efforts. Her other hand moving over his shoulder, following the open collar of his shirt. Fingertips lightly skimming over his chest, brushing the thin dusting of hair before unbuttoning the last two buttons and pulling the shirt completely open and running the flat of her hand over his ribs, stomach and grazing the waistline of his trousers.

His hand stilled and he bucked slightly at the contact, a low growl of frustration escaping him, as her mouth now attacked his Adams apple, beginning a tortuously slow downward journey. Rose deftly undid his belt, then pulled down the zip allowing him some freedom. A hiss erupted from him as her hands encircled him, while the feathery touch of her hair against his stomach caused his body to jerk.

The firm rapping at the door brought Harry back from his pleasant dream, dropping him back into harsh reality.


	12. Chapter 12

**A/N: pt 2 of Dogwood Rose symbolizing pain and pleasure. **

"Shit," Mickey said, barely managing to get his arms under Harry's body in an attempt to catch the collapsing figure. Mickey hadn't expected the man to literally drop at his feet, and the sudden weight pulling him forward forced him to his knees as he supported the body hanging limp in his arms.

Looking around quickly for a spot to deposit the unconscious form, Mickey began dragging Harry towards the sofa, his muscles straining under the dead weight and his breathing becoming laboured as he shuffled backwards.

Settling Harry onto the cushions, he placed a small throw pillow under his head and set two fingers against his neck. The skin was a bit clammy but there was a faint pulse, racing slightly. Mickey frowned; it should be slower if the person was unconscious. Of course, the usual reaction to the drug he'd used was disorientation, the victim wading through a fog of hazy comprehension, yet still compliant enough to be able to answer questions. He'd have to find out from Morton if Mickey had given Harry the wrong dosage.

He would have to wait now until the other awoke to find out any information. Beginning to pull his hand back, Mickey started as a loud buzzing tone sounded behind him, and he grabbed the mobile off the table inwardly chastising himself for being so jumpy. A glance told him the caller id, and he turned the phone off, hoping Rose would think Harry had called it a night.

Dropping the phone back onto the table, Mickey looked back at Harry. The older man's slack features seemed to mock him and he tentatively stretched a hand towards the other's chest. Pausing momentarily in indecision, Mickey shook his head and deliberately placed his palm over Harry's chest. One heartbeat, he noted, unsure whether this discovery eased his mind or came as a disappointment. Harry's chest rose and fell as a slight pressure against his hand. Mickey leaned forward, placing his ear close to Harry's mouth then sat back, satisfied at his findings. Human, to all intents and purposes, at least after a cursory inspection.

Sighing, he watched the still figure a few minutes more then stood moving towards the bar and pouring himself a drink. If he was going to have to wait for Harry to wake, he may as well make himself comfortable. Dropping ice cubes into the glass, he watched them bounce against the sides before settling on the bottom as he considered taking Harry into Torchwood where he could be observed by the medical team. He shook the thought off, not wanting to answer any more questions himself than were necessary. And besides, Harry didn't appear to be in any distress.

Mickey poured amber liquid into the glass then carried it back over to the lying form, pulled an armchair closer to the couch and sat down, grabbing the remote before stretching his legs out onto the table. He tipped his glass towards the comatose Harry. "Don't mind if I do," he stated, taking a drink and turning his attention back to the large screen to watch the replay between Chelsea and Manchester United.

XXXXX XXXXX

Rose looked at her phone again. Why wasn't Harry picking up? He'd sent her the photo of the rose not too long ago, which she had taken to mean she'd been forgiven for her earlier outburst. But now doubt was beginning to overshadow that idea and the gnawing fear in the pit of her stomach wouldn't let her rest.

Staring out the window as the familiar sights of the city passed, Rose was lost in her own thoughts, unaware of the scenery flashing by. Would Harry even talk to her since he was still unreachable on his mobile, and for a moment she panicked thinking he may have already left the city, then calmed herself. She knew where he lived, so even if he had decided to leave she could still find him, but she wanted to confront this sooner rather than later and held on to the hope that he was still in town.

She thought of all the wonders she'd been witness to, all the strange and unusual creatures, locations and unknown things, learning and discovering beside the Doctor, the near escapes, the seemingly constant running for their lives. She chuckled; it had been so worth it. She had felt a part of something bigger, something so wonderful she couldn't put it into words. Then in a heartbeat, the one person that had meant so much to her, had offered her the chance of a lifetime, had opened not only her eyes but her mind and heart to all that the universe could offer had been separated from her.

And now she'd met Harry, and there was an unknown to him that she couldn't quite figure out. He reminded her so much of another brown-eyed man, yet was completely different. And yes, she admitted to herself, she did harbour feelings for him. But did she trust him, or was she letting her reaction to Mickey's paranoia obscure her judgement? She had learned there was only one way to find the answers, and that was to not be afraid to stand up and ask the questions. She sat up, determined to face her own fears and confront Harry herself, subconscious be damned.

Smiling as the vehicle came to a stop in front of the lobby doors, Rose let herself out and reached for her crutch. No denying Harry enjoyed the finer tastes, she mused; the five star hotel, glamorous in its décor, made her begin to feel a bit underdressed, having thrown on a pair of jeans and a pink hoody. She couldn't remember if she'd properly combed her hair and ran a hand through it briefly, then decided to ignore any snobbish looks that were sure to be directed her way and started towards the doors. Harry was probably in the penthouse suite too, she thought, which would save her a bit of time having to traverse any long hallways on her bad foot.

Rose was just thanking the doorman when she pulled up short. A black Labrador launched itself towards the open door and ran past with a youngster in tow, eyes wide and mouth open, hand still clinging to the leash. Superman hadn't flown so well, Rose thought while managing to maintain her balance and sharing a laugh with the others gathered nearby. Her smile turned rapidly into a frown when she glanced across the lobby and spotted a familiar face belonging to Torchwood, and he wasn't alone. Panic gripped her and she stood frozen for a moment.

"Can I be of assistance, miss?"

Rose looked towards the friendly face of the doorman, still waiting for her to enter the door he held, and shook her head. "I'm fine thank you," she told him, her voice sounding a bit shaky even to her own ears.

Stepping into the lift and pushing the penthouse button on the panel, she wondered if she was in time to—to what? What the hell was Mickey doing?. She stared at the numbered buttons as they lit up, increasing slowly as the lift made its ascent floor by floor, her mind now racing with unwanted thoughts and irrational ideas.

The doors weren't fully open when the two individuals standing guard at the doorway found themselves facing a very angry person. And not just any angry person, but the Director's daughter, and judging from the panicked glances the two men shared, her demeanour was enough to convince them just who was in charge of whatever operation they were on.

She knew their faces; they'd worked under Jake and Mickey before, and she was hoping she wouldn't have to revert to calling Pete. Instead she tried a bluff. "Your services are no longer required this evening," she managed to say calmly, holding her hand out for the key card, and was pleased to note the two men handed it over and hastily disappeared into the lift without a word.

Her hand shook as she swiped the plastic card through the magnetic reader, watching the small LED turn green and the door click open. Pushing the door wider, she was taken aback at seeing Mickey sprawled on a chair watching football and next to him Harry laid out on the sofa. A convincing picture of two mates enjoying the evening, but Rose knew better.

"What have you done?" she shot angrily at Mickey while stepping towards Harry. "Told you to wait, yeah?"

Having spilled some of his drink at the sound of her voice, Mickey was now sitting up and glaring back. "I was getting some answers."

"By drugging him? Why didn't you just take him to Torchwood, you could have beaten him up a bit too!" she accused.

"You didn't seem all that concerned for him earlier this evening." Rose glanced up at Mickey who was now standing over her and Harry while she checked for a pulse. When Rose didn't respond, Mickey continued. "I didn't give him anything different than what we normally use. I double checked." Mickey sounded almost apologetic, and again Rose looked upwards noting the concern in his face. "But he just dropped like a deflated balloon. That's why I brought him to the sofa. I've been keeping an eye on him since."

Mickey watched Rose lean forward as he had done earlier, checking to see that Harry was breathing. "Any ideas?"

Rose shook her head. "I don't know." She placed the back of her hand on Harry's forehead and noted a slight shiver run through him. "Has that happened before?" she asked Mickey hopefully. Mickey shook his head.

"There's been nothing," he stated. "But he's only got one heart," he hastened to point out.

"Help me get him into the bedroom." Rose moved to the opposite end of the sofa, looking at Mickey expectantly. "You're going to just stand there?"

"Why do we need to move him? He looks comfortable. 'Sides, you're not going to be much help." He indicated the crutch.

"Mickey," Rose growled and the young man bent over, placing his hands under Harry's shoulders and lifted. Grunting loudly at the exertion for Rose's benefit, he managed to half drag, half carry the inert figure into the bedroom, then gingerly laid him on the bed.

"I'll be out in the front room." Mickey thumbed over his shoulder before walking away.

Rose managed, with a bit of effort, to get Harry's jacket off and threw it over a chair before stepping into the small bathroom. Wetting a towel with warm water, she wrung it out then knelt on the bed beside him, wiping his cool brow and cheeks in long strokes, remembering another time she had done this, for another man, in another universe.

She picked up the hotel phone listening for an operator. She had an idea. "Mickey!" Rose shouted.

"What's wrong?" Mickey asked at the doorway a few seconds later, the look in his eyes saying he'd expected to find more than the exact sight he'd just left. "Getting room service squared away that he-" indicating Harry with a nod. "—ordered."

"Is there tea?" Rose asked quickly.

Mickey shrugged, until he met her eyes. "I'll find out," he answered as he disappeared again.

"I need more towels and your strongest tea," she told the concierge over the phone. "Yeah, penthouse suite—" she looked imploringly at Mickey. "And could I have that yesterday?" She hung up the phone before waiting for a reply. Let them mull on that.

"What's the rush?"

"Was there tea?" she almost shrieked. Mickey looked taken aback.

"Course there's tea, and biscuits too if you—" he grew silent as she stormed past him, nearly knocking him over. She was on a mission and Mickey stepped out of the way.

"Get him in the shower," she called over her shoulder. Mickey stood staring at Harry, his brows furrowed, until Rose came back, carrying a carafe and empty cup. Pouring half a cup she set it close to Harry's head then scooted down the bed and began pulling off his shoes and socks. "I need some help here, Mickey," she pleaded with urgency.

Moving to the side of the bed Mickey removed the cup of tea then reached behind Harry once more, gathering the unresponsive man and dragging him towards the bathroom. "You want to explain this?" he managed to gasp in between breaths.

"We need to break his fever," she replied twisting the shower knob and hobbling aside to give Mickey room.

"Damn!" Mickey shouted, dumping Harry onto the floor and jumping out of the cold spray, shaking his head. "He's not even burning up," he stated a little put out by Rose's demands and the fact he was now wet and cold.

"Would you grab the tea?" Rose asked kneeling over Harry, mindful of the fact she was thoroughly soaked in moments. Hastily discarding the drenched hoody, she struggled to pull him up into a sitting position, his head dropping to her shoulder as she tried unbuttoning his shirt the rest of the way. Numb fingers from the cold water, and his shirt refusing to budge from the waistband, she sighed unbuckling his belt. This definitely wasn't the romantic evening she'd dreamt about. She turned at the incessant tapping on her shoulder.

Mickey stood holding the carafe out to her, a towel in his other hand, drying himself. Rose pulled the last dry towel off the rack and poured the tea over it.

"Did I miss something?" Mickey asked warily.

"Free radicals and tannins," Rose replied shivering, finally loosening the belt and unzipping Harry's trousers enough to pull his shirt free, then slowly peeling it from his arms, his body draped over hers like a large child. "It helped the Doctor, after his regeneration."

"You've still lost me. We don't even know if he is one of them," Mickey said quietly reaching over with no prompting as Rose began to remove Harry's trousers, and with Mickey's help pulled off the clingy clothing. Dumping the article in the corner with the shirt and jumper now surrounded by a pool of wet on the tiled floor, Mickey turned back to Rose. "He's not regenerating, or something?"

Rose shaking her head looked up at Mickey's tolerant smile, mascara tears trailing down her cheeks and strands of hair plastered against her face. "I'll try anything, Mickey," she said, cradling Harry's head against her shoulder, her other arm wrapped protectively around him, and the tea soaked towel draped over his shoulders, the effects of the cold water causing her to shiver uncontrollably.

"Yeah, I'll get the door." Mickey inclined his head towards the loud knocking, patted Rose awkwardly on the shoulder and left to meet room service once again.

Despite the fact she was beyond freezing under the torrent of water, Rose felt a movement and looked down into a pair of familiar brown eyes. "Wha—" he began, then closed his eyes again, leaning back into her.

Rose kissed the top of his head, rubbing her cheek against the short hair, while rocking him unconscientiously, as if comforting a small child. "I didn't know what to do," she whispered hoarsely, her thumb rubbing short strokes across his cheek.

"Time," he managed to croak out.

"'S ok. I can wait until you're ready." He shook his head, Rose frowned.

"Time lo--," his voice faded from the effort and despite the temperature Rose felt her insides freeze.

"Figured that," she threw back flippantly, wanting to ease his discomfort. "Two hearts, yeah?" He nodded in response. "How do we get the other one working again?" Receiving no answer Rose looked down and found his eyes closed once again, a soft sound coming from his open mouth. He appeared to be snoring peacefully, and she dared to believe that he would be all right.

Mickey had moved Harry back into the other room and laid him on the towel covered bed without objecting. Rose, after wrapping her hair up, began to dry Harry off. "I'll just leave you to it. Let me know if he comes around." Mickey stepped backwards toward the door.

"Yeah, I will." Rose looked up at her friend who seemed a tad embarrassed by her ministrations to Harry. "Thanks Mickey." Mickey shrugged and hurried out of the room as Rose continued toweling off Harry.

She told herself that her gaze never wandered from her task, and she didn't notice the mole above his right nipple, the smattering of light brown hair across his chest or the fact that if one followed his smooth stomach downward it led to a line of darker hair. Her breath caught as she lifted the towel from his stomach and gaped at the sight below. Glancing quickly at his face, her own feeling slightly flushed, she caught her tongue between her teeth and let her gaze drift over his boxers again before running the towel over and around his thighs, smiling to herself as certain movements brought a slight reaction.

She thought momentarily about replacing the wet boxers, then laid a dry towel over them, leaving the sleeping figure's modesty intact. Rose pulled the bed covers up and tucked Harry in, setting a fresh cup of tea next to him before rummaging through his clothes in search of a dry track suit for herself.

Stepping from the bathroom after a hot shower, she felt the day's events catch up with her and lay down on the far side of the bed from Harry, promptly drifting off.


	13. Chapter 13

Harry's world was black, as black as the darkest pits of hell where not even the muted glow of eternal fires could be discerned. There was no stench alerting him to the fact that he might actually be in a supposed hell other than the one conjured by his mind, rather a subtle earthy smell that one associated with leaves and damp. The deep throbbing in his head was another not-so-gentle reminder that he was indeed still breathing, but he was unable to pinpoint why the stuttering staccato rhythm that was playing seemed somehow unfamiliar.

He silently pleaded with his body to respond, waiting for the comforting pressure of the heels of his palms pushing against his forehead in an attempt to tame the incessant hammering inside his skull. Instead his arms remained unmoving beside him, the only motion a small twitch of a finger as he tried to process the type of barrier that confined him.

_The idiot_. Or was he referring to himself, he thought as he became aware of the last conscious thought before Mickey's treachery had rendered him unconscious. He remembered the sharp sting of the needle, then a cool sensation of tiny prickly webbing multiplying and spreading rapidly throughout his body followed by darkness reaching for him, a darkness that engulfed him and afforded no escape, all because of—

_C'mon, think_. He shouted obscenities to his psyche as he replayed the scene over, trying to drown out the echoing drums while searching for the missing piece.

He gasped, his body jerking as comprehension slammed into him. He lay there, tense, his muscles seized in imitation of tightly wound cables, fists clenched under the sheets, eyes staring at the ceiling his mouth open in a wordless yell as he recalled that single word, the one word, a solitary name. _Doctor_.

Inhaling a shaky breath, he felt his second heart rejoin the erratic beat, smoothing the rapid pulse and slowing as his adrenaline levels dropped, allowing his body to begin relaxing.

_Doctor_. Memories unbidden came to the forefront as the name conjured a lifetime of victories, defeats, lies, truths, condemnations and acceptances. In truth what appeared to be a lifetime of opposites, like magnets repelling one another, centuries of contradictions, each trying to outwit the other, yet in fact upon closer inspection were two of a kind. Both outcasts of their own people, labelled as individualists, non-conformists, rebels, geniuses, meddlers and now survivors. The last two of their kind, confined to separate realities, essentially alone.

For a Time Lord, the greatest punishment the universe could have bestowed was a solitary existence; the absence of one's own people forever erased from your mind, for there was no going home. Gallifrey had been destroyed in the Time Wars, its few surviving orphans subjected to isolated continuation. Unable to identify the hollow chasm in his mind for what it was, he'd gone into hiding, once more running from his fears.

Masquerading as a lonely human, he'd almost lost himself until the Doctor had once again interfered. Not only giving him back his own identity, but then dastardly thwarting his plans for recreating a new Gallifrey. Then the pompous ass had forgiven him. _Forgiven_ him, as if there were something he needed absolved from. Unbelievable, Harry chuckled to himself. Could the Doctor after all these years think it was possibly over?

Of course if Harry had thought things through just a little bit more, he wouldn't have gotten himself stuck in this alternate reality, but better that the alternative as he'd witnessed the other body being shot. He'd been mildly curious at the Doctor's response, and since that time, given the amount of time he'd had to mull things over, he thought he finally comprehended the other's reaction.

Thirty years versus nine hundred was small in comparison, yet it still gave one plenty of time to think and even more to understand that he was entirely alone. And he was tired. He'd entertained thoughts of escaping this reality, but if his calculations where correct, he'd be waiting another fifty-plus years for the technology to even breath life back into—

A soft sigh beside him caused him pause, and he rolled his head to the side, taking in the figure next to him. Rose, lying in the same bed. Not quite the way he had imagined their first time together. Turning over to his side, being careful not to wake her, he continued watching her sleep, puzzled as to why he felt such an attraction to this particular individual. He reached out, gently pushing a loose strand of hair from her face, his fingers gliding lightly over her temple. His hand stopped as his fingers settled unconsciously in the familiar pattern against her skin, his mind beginning to seek a connection. Abruptly he pulled his hand back, studying his fingertips intently as his thumb rubbed over them in a soothing circular motion.

A smaller hand covered his and he looked up to find himself mirrored in those hazel eyes he'd last seen in his dreams. "Hey," she whispered, giving him a half smile as she squeezed his hand lightly. "How are you feeling?"

He nodded, not yet trusting his parched throat and a tongue that felt like it had been wrapped in thick cotton. Rose sat up suddenly, removing her hand. He felt empty again at the loss of her touch. His eyes followed her as she made her way to the end of the bed and walked to the other side, forcing him to roll onto his back to continue watching her. She seemed intent on something on the bedside table, the light causing him to squint at its brightness until he recognized she was holding a cup and offering it to him. Propping himself on his elbows, he let out a small groan from the movement as a sharp spike of pain shot through his skull.

His eyes followed hers towards the doorway at the unexpected noise, and he found himself relieved when no Mickey came storming through the door. Just a few more minutes he thought accepting the plain white cup from her, his fingertips lightly brushing against hers, both letting the touch linger a bit longer than necessary.

The tea was cold and Harry grimaced at the taste, still managing to swallow a large portion of it. Pulling the cup from his mouth he stared at the miniature dark specks floating in the liquid as the soothing relief washed down his throat more than making up for the temperature.

"I'd get a warm cup—" Rose began softly then shrugged her shoulders, with another quick glance towards the door, a silent message to Harry that she wasn't all that eager to involve Mickey in their discussion either.

Setting the now empty cup on the nightstand, Harry pushed himself backwards into a sitting position against the headboard, looking down in surprise as the sheets slid off his chest. He couldn't remember removing his shirt—no wait. He was dressed only in a pair of boxers, he realized, as he tugged at the covers in a feeble attempt to pull them upwards and finding Rose, who was sitting with one leg curled under, the other hanging off the side of the bed, was in effect anchoring the blankets. Finally giving up, he noted with more than a little satisfaction that her face turned a light shade of pink when she became aware Harry was watching her check him out. Hurriedly looking away, Rose bit her bottom lip, fingers absently twisting the banded ribbing of the track suit.

"Rose." Harry whispered her name as he laid his hand lightly over hers, stilling her motion. For a moment he was afraid she would pull away; she tensed under his touch, then ever so slowly she turned to face him. A wide range of emotions playing across her face caught him off guard and he battled the urge to pull her to him.

"There are too many secrets between us," he stated quietly, trying to keep his voice as low and steady as possible. Rose nodded in acknowledgement, lowering her gaze then immediately raising it again, startled. Harry couldn't keep from grinning at her reaction. "Although a few less now," he added without taking his eyes from hers, watching her face turn an even darker shade of red.

"You're a Time Lord." It was stated as fact, and somewhere in that slowly receding headache he still nursed he caught a glimpse of hazel eyes framed by darker hair. The shower, of course. Her hair had been wet, which explained the darker colour, and he'd somehow trusted her to understand what he was telling her, had told her.

"That doesn't surprise you."

Rose shook her head. "I work for a corporation that deals with non-humans, unusual artefacts, and unexplained incidents."

"But there's more," he coaxed.

Rose nodded, pulling her gaze away from his and finding a more interesting spot to study on the wall behind him. "I thought--" she began, then stopped, looking down at their hands as she took in a deep breath. "I thought you might be him," she finished, not raising her head.

"Does that disappoint you?" He tried to cover the hurt in his voice, watching for a simple clue from her body language that would validate the question. Would the Doctor continually haunt him?

Sure, he'd monopolized evil tyranny throughout the universe, founded whole civilisations on war and even been known to obliterate a solar system or two on occasion, yet each time he'd received the recognition he deserved, usually through the Doctor's retaliation and oneupmanship. You weren't allowed to get away with anything these days; especially if the name of the game was exacting victorious revenge on your mortal enemy, whom you'd once considered your best mate.

Sitting across from the only other thing in his entire existence that made him pause and wonder if there was some thing he'd been missing shook Harry at his core. The simple thought that he had the capability to actually care for someone else, and not just play acting in a show, like the few months he'd spent with Lucy, was shocking. Those long months had been barely tolerable, another pathetically gullible puppet performing for him and filling a required purpose, manipulated, expendable, and easily forgotten.

Then he'd met Rose. An enigma in her own right, she didn't belong here any more than he did, and he had not only sensed but felt it that first day he'd seen her on the beach. She was out of her time and, like a black hole, mesmerizing to watch, dangerous to get too close to, yet unmistakeably compelling and unfathomable. Even with the knowledge she was familiar with the Doctor, although in what capacity—as an acquaintance, companion, friend, concubine (no not the Doctor; he'd never have a concubine), lover, mate—he was unsure.

But it hardly mattered, did it?

Harry had never experienced such an insatiable yearning, and all because of a girl he'd met and was falling for. Falling for, was that the label given to this strange feeling coursing through him? An enticement, yes, and to be honest with himself, there was a deeper attraction: a need, want, desire. Not just to have her, but to possess her and be able to call her his.

And Harry didn't like to share.


	14. Chapter 14

Provence Rose: My heart is in flames

Harry already knew the answer to his question, but it hadn't stopped him from asking. Of course she was disappointed that he wasn't the Doctor. Just the thought that someone would mistake him for his longstanding rival sent shivers through him. He wasn't blind or stupid, and he knew he wasn't the person she had fallen in love with before. Still he held onto a miniscule glimmer of hope that Rose was capable of moving forward and not one to let herself get stuck in the past. A past he was incapable of changing or interfering with.

Closing his eyes for a brief instant, he opened his mind seeking to discover any indications to the future by tracing several threads of time forward. Each thin strand he followed, no matter the path, ended in a golden light that left him slightly bewildered. Staring into the unknown the implication became clear. Neither of them belonged to this reality, and yet here they stood on the cusp of time like two unknown quantities, which left numerous possibilities for a future, their future.

Rose's voice brought him back to the present. "He said it was impossible to return." Rose struggled for a moment, her mouth opening then closing allowing no words to be spoken, her eyes seeming to search for an elusive answer.

"The Doctor?" he encouraged lightly, his lip curling in distaste as he spoke the other's name. Rose lifted her head, nodding in acknowledgement. Her tear filled eyes captured Harry's heart and he forced back a scream at the injustice of the reminder; that everything he touched was tainted.

"It's been so long now that I was starting to lose hope of ever seeing him again," her voice trailed off and she looked back down at their hands. "He said he had one more tear between the worlds to close, and—and then he burnt up a sun just to say goodbye." A sob escaped and Rose hastily wiped tears from her cheeks as Harry thought to himself, _typical of the git, always trying to show off_.

Harry dropped his chin so that he was looking at Rose from under heavy eyebrows. _Here it comes,_ he mused, knowing the question was inevitable and yet unable to stop her from asking. It didn't mean he had to like it, and with nine hundred plus years of experience behind him he should be able to dance around it.

"If you're here, and you're a Time Lord—" Rose let the sentence hang and dropped her gaze as Harry regretfully shook his head. "You must think I'm pathetic," she sniffled.

Harry crooked a finger under her chin raising her head, although she kept her eyes downward. "You've lost someone that meant a great deal to you, and that type of pain never fully heals." Harry's fingers moved over her jaw and gently brushed her cheek letting the trail of tears flow over his thumb. _I'm right here, Rose and I won't leave you_, he thought unable to put his feelings into words.

Laying his hand atop hers again he took a deep breath. "Rose, he was right," he began gently. Had he really said that about the Doctor? He must be getting soft in his old age. "Right about it being impossible to travel between realities," he quickly added.

Twisting their hands so the back of his rested on the top of her knee, he continued talking while mesmerized by her index finger as she began tracing the lines etched in his palm, her other hand sliding under and half cradling his.

"There was a time we could travel wherever we had a mind too. Any time, any place, choose a location and without so much as a blink or a second thought you could experience a whole new world, different species, all of time and space to explore. Before the Time Wars jumping between realities was as common as you folks sitting to tea," Harry paused, finding he had to force himself to swallow. He was still a bit light-headed from earlier and watching her fingertips brush across his skin, his hearts skipped a beat as his blood began pumping faster. He licked his lips and suppressed a growl, intently trying to remember the spatial coordinates of Jupiter's moons, while keeping himself from not concentrating on her touch while his eyes tracked the path outlined by her finger, then she stopped.

Her brow furrowed in studied concentration. "He said he would know if anyone else, any other of his kind were still alive. He would be able to feel them, in his head. So how is it _you_ are here?" she demanded quietly, staring down at his palm her finger a feathery touch against his hand while she waited for an answer.

Harry's mind was racing along a different course and he barely caught the words she'd asked. "I – uh." He tried remembering what the question had been, she obviously didn't realize the effect she was having on him.

Harry's free hand clenched the bed sheets so tightly the tops of his knuckles were turning white, and yet he dared not move for fear the cause of his particular distress would be brought to her attention. His need for comfort was beginning to outweigh his thoughts of modesty.

He leaned forward until a fraction of space was all that separated them. He could smell the traces of her herbal shampoo mixed with sweat and her own unique scent. His eyes took in the darker roots at the top of her head that gave way to lighter bleached blonde hair that was typical Rose, and he found it hard not to think about discovering her natural colour.

"He's stuck," snapped Mickey from the doorway, causing Rose to jerk her head up and Harry to fall back against the headboard in dismay.

_Nothing like a splash of cold water_, thought Harry as he looked up at the ceiling, feeling keenly the loss of Rose's touch as she'd let go of his hand and turned to face Mickey.

"The Idiot awakens," Harry sneered, ignoring the glare Mickey shot him.

"Go on, tell her," prompted Mickey crossing his arms over his chest with a look that dared Harry to contradict him.

"What would you like me to tell her?" He responded simply bringing his gaze down to bear on the intruder.

"Tell her about the _special_ research you're conducting." Harry locked eyes with the smug young man whose resolute glare began to shift nervously under the Time Lord's intense scrutiny.

Mickey looked to Rose almost pleadingly, dropping his arms to his side. "Ask him Rose." He tilted his head toward Harry, shuffling closer. "Ask him about his little project," Mickey spat out the last few words.

Rose slowly turned back to Harry her eyes questioning and shifting between his as if she might find the answer in them.

Harry shrugged noncommittally and addressed Mickey as one would present end of year numbers to a board of directors. "It's a fairly complex satellite communications network design, of which your feeble brain wouldn't begin to understand even if I were to diagram in its most simplistic detail with tinker toys." Mickey gave him a slightly baffled look and Harry waved it off. "Knex if you will." Still not seeing any form of identification with the children's toys Harry continued. "Lincoln logs? Erector set? Legos?" At last, the proverbial light bulb went off over Mickey's head. "Figures—lot's of blocks," Harry mumbled.

"That's not all it is," Mickey shot back vehemently. Harry raised his hands to show his innocence and raised an eyebrow.

"Share with us, _your_ clever insights," Harry offered with a tinge of sarcasm, allowing himself just the briefest of smiles while his eyes never wavered.

Rose sat quietly observing and giving no indication if she had chosen a side or was content to be a bystander waiting to see the outcome. Either way, Harry didn't doubt she would deal with whatever fallout occurred and was biding her time for now.

"For a species with a higher than average intelligence, you continue to amaze me with your stupidity," Harry taunted, pleased with the reaction as Mickey spluttered indignantly while waving an arm in Harry's direction and addressing Rose.

"Don't you see what he's doing? Everyone's blind to his scheme, I told you he's a fake. He's only been friendly because it'll get him into Torchwood. It would allow him access to advanced technology so that he can continue to build his superior system, which is really just one giant power source," Mickey explained and took a deep breath before continuing. "With that kind of a system and all the power he is harnessing, he's planning some sort of a take-over, or an invasion. And we're not talking just Earth," Mickey concluded confidently.

Harry felt rather than saw Rose's stare and brought the heels of his palms up to cover his eyes, pushing hard against his forehead in an effort to stop the pounding inside.

Then he giggled.

A short sound that quickly vanished, and in an effort to hold back the next one it ended up coming out as more of a hiccupped snort. A higher pitched chuckling ensued that rapidly erupted into gales of laughter, and turned immediately into deep belly laughs that shook his whole body. Harry was unable to remember the last time he'd had such a good laugh.

Mickey looked a bit disconcerted at this unexpected outburst and dared a sidelong glance at Rose who was trying hard to keep her own composure but losing the fight to hold back an amused grin. She turned to Mickey, his puzzled face a cross between suspicion and incredulity and she bit her bottom lip. She stood and took a tentative step towards the end of the bed.

Harry's laughter subsided a bit, his body shuddering with silent laughter. Wiping tears from his eyes with the backs of his hands he tried to focus on Rose who was now moving sideways while attempting to keep weight off of her injured ankle. Harry sobered immediately as the distance closed between her and Mickey. Panic wrenched the breath from him and his thoughts focused sharply. She was siding with the Idiot?

In a blur of movement that startled both Rose and Mickey, Mickey found himself standing directly in the path of a brewing storm as Harry faced him, eyes dark with menace and face set in stony determination, the laughter gone. In a low voice Harry snarled. "You're an id-i-ot." Mickey flinched at the ferocity and back-pedalled deliberately as Harry advanced on him, the wall abruptly halting a further retreat.

Confident he had the arrogantly presumptuous youth's attention, Harry leaned closer, feeling his own breath rebounding off of the other's face. He could smell the fear, hear the elevated heart rate pulsing quicker, feel the heat radiating from the other's body even though Mickey trembled. Relentlessly he pressed himself against the young man unwilling to concede until a breath separated them.

In a voice cold and calculating, barely above a whisper Harry spoke. "If you're going to investigate someone then concoct outrageous theories based on half-assed assumptions, be very, very," Harry let the words stretch out. "Certain you are able and willing to deal with the end results."

Neither man was willing to relent, both staring unyieldingly as if in an unseen mortal struggle. Mickey's eyes took on a glint of triumph, a slow grin beginning at the corners of his mouth. "I'm more than ready," he declared frostily. The unmistakable sound of a gun cocking, punctuated his words.

"Mickey?" Rose interjected softly, a slight tremor to her voice. Harry discerned her concern and thick disbelief at this sudden turn. Backing slowly away from Mickey, Harry conceded and with timed deliberateness raised his arms outward in surrender, not wanting to give the man a reason to pull the trigger. His eyes locked onto Mickey's as his face took on a mask of forced surrender

"Who's the idiot now?" Mickey growled, pushing away from the wall and lifted the pistol until it was pointing at the centre of Harry's chest.

"Well," Harry replied jovially taking another step back as he beamed widely at Mickey. Like a pleased child Harry laughed as he looked down at himself then back up, grinning gleefully. "I guess you've caught me with my trousers down," he exclaimed jokingly and glanced quickly over at Rose wanting her to share in the fun.

Harry's smile faded to a sullen frown as he turned back toward Mickey giving him a pained expression and shook his head sadly as if chastising a wayward child. "Will you never learn?" he asked sorrowfully, languidly uncurling his left fingers and exposing the bullets sitting in his hand. The shells began to tumble from his hand as he turned his wrist over.

He watched in pleasurable satisfaction as Mickey's eyes followed the falling brass, and listened to the muted plinks as they landed on the carpet, giving way to silence that crashed heavily between them.

Mickey's jaw and hand holding the now empty weapon dropped at the same time.

Taking advantage of the situation, Harry grasped Mickey's arm above the elbow and propelled his unresisting form towards the door. Pushing him none to gently through the opening, he offered the stunned man a little parting advice. "Next time," Harry spoke in a low tone. "I won't play fair. Now, Rose and I wish to be alone. Think what you will Mister Smith, and let your imagination run wild," he suggested brazenly, feeling Mickey tense before giving him a harder shove towards the front door. "Good day, good riddance and good-bye."

Harry slammed the door turned back towards Rose and immediately collapsed in exhaustion.

XXXXX

There was a voice.

A familiar voice calling to him and Harry struggled to answer; the darkness pulling him downward once more as the voice faded.

There it was. That same voice again, this time it sounded closer. A whisper that danced in his subconscious urging him to follow, the sound growing less muted as he concentrated and allowed himself to be pulled forward.

He could make out a name, his name.

"Harry," Rose called again her voice coaxing him gently out of the blackness as she pressed a warm damp cloth to his forehead.

He opened his eyes and squinted against the harsh brightness. A dark shadow fell over him and opening his eyes again he saw the outline of her face. She wore a worried expression with the hint of a smile and he blinked trying to focus.

"Welcome back again," she said lightly, backing away so that he could take in his surroundings. He was lying on the floor of the hotel room and the bed seemed an impossible distance away, he found he didn't care. She was here, what else could possibly matter?

There was slight pressure against his chest and he tried to raise his head then quickly thought better of the idea as an explosion of white fireworks forced him to abandon any movement. He let his head drop back aware that the floor was quite soft underneath it.

Rose's face came back into view. "Both hearts beating," she said encouragingly as the pressure lifted from his chest. He would have chuckled if he hadn't been damning his luck.

"Thanks Nurse," he managed to croak weakly. Rose disappeared and was back almost immediately, one hand cradling his head and lifting upwards as she placed the tea cup against his lips. He swallowed greedily then lay back again blinking and trying to focus his thoughts as Rose wiped the spilled tea off his chin.

"I'm not very good with Gallifreyan physiology, so I suggest you lie still for a bit." Harry wasn't about to argue already beginning to feel a tingling in his arms and legs.

"What happened—" he began and Rose cut him off with a finger to his lips.

"Shush you. No talking right now, there will be plenty of time for answers shortly." Rose disappeared from his sight again, but he could hear her moving about the room. "You've suffered a relapse. The drug that Mickey gave you wasn't completely out of your system." She stood over him looking down, the bedcovers bunched in her arms. That explained the soft floor, she'd propped his head up with a pillow.

"Sorry I'm not able to get you back into bed at the moment, so we'll do the next best thing." Harry just watched quietly, mentally assessing himself and enjoying the sound of her voice.

She hadn't left. That was a good sign. The Idiot hadn't been successful in his attempt to steal her away, Harry's breath caught as emotions crashed through him and Rose was suddenly staring into his eyes, hers filled with concern.

He tried to wave her off, but his limbs felt as if they were sunk in quicksand and ignored the message to move. Instead he forced the words out. "I'm okay."

Rose gave him another apprehensive look before continuing her task of tucking the covers around him. "I know this isn't the most comfortable, but at least I can make sure you stay warm." She stopped and eyed him speculatively. "You will tell me if you need anything?" He moved his head in a short nod stopping just before the pain magnified again and that small motion seemed to placate her.

Pulling the other pillow over to his side she lay down next to him. Harry forced his head to turn to the side ignoring the pain of the motion and watched her. Rose looked back at him steadily then reached out and ran a hand along the side of his face. "For superior beings, you can be as normal as any other bloke some of the time," she said softly. "Get some rest, and don't think you don't have a lot to answer for later," she added in a more serious tone and pulled her hand back as far as his shoulder.

Content with that small amount of touch Harry drifted back to the world of darkness that was calling.


	15. Chapter 15

Provence Rose : My Heart is in Flames pt 2

Rose curled up close beside Harry quietly watching the steady rise and fall of his chest which gave the impression of peaceful sleep. It was a perplexing contrast to the shimmering layer of sweat adorning his brow and the warmth under her hand radiating off his skin, both indications to Rose that his sleep only resembled tranquillity. His body waged a silent war within as it battled the effects of the drug Mickey had injected into his system. She could only let him rest and hope the substance would wear off shortly unaware of any other course of action that wouldn't prove fatal.

She tried recalling even the tiniest pieces of information the Doctor had imparted about the difference in Gallifreyan physiology and was only able to remember an allergic reaction to aspirin and a more efficient rate of metabolism. Neither of which would aid her in assisting Harry. She thought of all the questions she had posed to the Doctor on their many adventures and wondered why it hadn't seemed all that important to have asked about the physical differences.

Probably, she mused, it was because the Doctor had appeared and even acted nearly human most of the time. It was hard to remember he wasn't like her until they were faced with one of those rare moments he was saving the world and forcing her to rethink her own ideologies. Had Harry ever saved a world she pondered studying his face and thinking of the many secrets, the strange and unusual ideas locked within his mind, experiences that were his and his alone.

Rose smiled in remembrance of the few times she had actually witnessed the Doctor asleep. He seemed to exist in a state of perpetual motion. Even while sitting and reading he'd continually shift around as if never finding just the right spot to settle. His facial features would contort in response to the author's work while his fingers skimmed over the pages; readjusted his glasses, pushed through the mop of unruly hair or tapped idly along to some mysterious melody.

She reached out her fingers to touch his cheek and lazily traced the back of her knuckles over Harry's face feeling the rough bristle scrape lightly against her skin. Her breath caught for a split second and her motions stilled when he leaned into her touch, a small sigh escaping him. She waited uncertainly not wanting to wake him before resuming her feathered caress downwards over his jaw and bringing the back of her hand to rest against the side of his neck where a steady pulse beat reassuredly.

He was an enigma and according to Mickey a threat to humanity even though every interaction with her had been the complete opposite. The only form of threat she had ever been in danger of in his presence was the possibility of being snogged. She wanted to uncover the mystery that was Harry, all too aware of the fact that what seemed innocent could actually prove quite deadly, she was willing to take that chance.

Yawning widely in answer to the tiredness that ran through her as the events of the day caught up with her, Rose felt both physically and emotionally drained and allowed her eyes to close for the briefest of moments.

At first there was nothing.

The nothing began as a vast emptiness devoid of light, unfamiliar sensations that held no meaning drifting in a world of unconsciousness. In the midst of the blackness a soft glow protruded in defiance of the night.

The watcher waited. A silent observer to the steadily creeping illumination that forced back the darkness, a faint pinpoint of light gradually increasing in size as it pressed outwards against the confines of obscurity penetrating the lightlessness, offering hope.

Faded shadows flickered amongst the dawning light turning into ghosted figures that emerged as muted outlines slowly taking on shape and substance. As the circle of light expanded, more and more faces appeared flashing unbidden before receding once more, many etched with the lines of an aged people others smooth with the innocence of youth. Their haunted eyes stared off into the far distance beyond the spectator then slowly turned until one comprehended the reflection of a growing horror.

Flames leapt menacingly, a raging inferno that created an inescapable prison non-discriminate in its selection of victims. Soon the myriad of faces became unrecognizable blurs as the terror clawed mercilessly enveloping the innocent as it snaked its way to the foreground hissing and spitting.

Voices at first a murmuring lullaby turned abruptly into a dull roar of incomprehensible shouts and exclamations, crescendoing into a thunderous wave of panicked cries and piercing screams that melded into hopeless wails. The onslaught smothered ultimately in a crashing silence, leaving only echoes reverberating soundlessly until a solitary pulse remained.

Incessant in its rhythm and subtly intertwined with a golden thread, the only remnants left in the stillness. No breath or other sign of life remained in the charred and blackened landscape whose edges slowly began to crumble into dust. The irrevocable disintegration of a decaying planet once majestic and wondrous in its splendour now reduced to clouds of floating particles that shimmered with the light of surrounding stars.

There was an all too familiar emptiness, a longing full of sorrow and unfathomable loss.

Amongst the quagmire of destruction one tiny bud strained against and forced its way upwards through the dry and cracked terra becoming a tiny huddled figure, alone and shivering in the dark.

The golden thread issued forth taking the form of a phoenix as it rose up out of the ashes offering brilliant luminosity and began to stretch its wings shrinking the boundaries of the dampening gloom.

The pitiful figure turned beseeching eyes to the towering bird as it plummeted towards the hapless boy who uttered a single word. "Rose." The phoenix unwavering in its path descended, engulfing the child before erupting into a flash of searing white light, then darkness.

Rose didn't remember falling asleep as she blinked rapidly trying to get her eyes to focus on the multicoloured pattern across from her. Her breath was shallow and fast as if she had finished running the final leg of a race and the last remnants of fear clung tightly around her. Images flashed briefly at the edges of her mind, teasing yet remaining just beyond the realm of consciousness. She tried to shift and found herself trapped, a moment of panic seized her and she tensed ready to fight the restricting bonds, then slowly realized she was caught in an embrace.

She swallowed and closed her eyes willing herself to take deep breaths as she forced herself to relax noting the smothering heat she had attributed to fire was in fact radiating off of Harry, something had to be seriously wrong. Weren't Gallifreyans supposed to have a cooler body temperature? And where had the idea of fire come from, almost immediately the thought was gone. Harry was trembling beneath her and his racing pulse sounded akin to a bird in flight. The sudden sharp vision of a fiery winged creature caused her to gasp and a shudder ran through her body.

Rose licked her dry lips and tucked her chin only to find herself staring at the top of Harry's head. "Harry?" she whispered quietly so as not to startle him. His grip around her was that of a man holding on in sheer desperation afraid to let go, and he was literally crushing her. "Harry," she pleaded a bit more forcefully while trying to pull an arm out of his grasp.

There was an alarmed cry and for a brief pause Rose understood what it was like to be caught in a vice as Harry clenched instinctively, a small whoosh sound escaping her as the air was forced from her lungs. A charged current shot through her veins and a kaleidoscope of colours exploded in her mind. Harry jerked awkwardly with a loud cry instantly releasing her. Rose coughed as she swallowed too much air overcompensating for the lack of it earlier.

"I'm sorry—" Harry gasped hoarsely raising himself into a sitting position and scrambling backwards until he was brought up short against the bed, all the while repeating the same short chopped phrases. "I didn't—", "You weren't—". Tears were streaming down his face as he dropped his head forward pulling his knees inward as if trying to escape and hide.

Rose watched in uneasy fascination unsure if this current state was a reaction to the drug or…

Rose's eyes widened in sudden horror and comprehension, the dream, or what she'd thought she'd dreamt was in fact no dream at all. What she'd scarcely witnessed in miniscule glimpses and shattered fragments were a concrete reality of memories for Harry. Now she understood the meaning of the words he was uttering, she'd been an unintended recipient to the demons he carried inside. How could one man live with so much death and destruction?

Harry laughed a short harsh bark as he raised his head and studied his hands. His thumb rubbed over the tips of his fingers as he contemplated them a slight frown of disbelief contorting his features. "That can't be," he stated simply shaking his head a little. His red rimmed eyes boring into her as if he could see her innermost thoughts. "No," he reiterated calmly the corner of his mouth twitching upward then back as he bent his head to the side still keeping eye contact with Rose.

His brown eyes grew darker as he gradually raised himself upwards, his arms shaking with the effort as he pushed himself to his feet. He swayed a bit unsteadily, a tightrope walker unsure of his footing, and Rose stood slowly with him, creating a few more feet of distance but still close enough to offer assistance if needed.

"Is this some kind of a joke?" he asked not waiting for Rose to answer. He took a backwards step, his knee buckling as it met the mattress and Rose stepped forward instinctively only to have Harry leap sideways a short distance. With a cry of triumph he rounded on her. "You, Rose Tyler don't belong here!" he said arm stretched out and a finger pointed accusingly. "You're an anomaly," he paused as if reconsidering as his arm dropped listlessly to his side.

He turned his back to her raising clenched fists to his temples. "C'mon think. They don't like anomalies, no deviations, everything has it's time, everything its own set of rules." He spun again and Rose shifted backwards, his arms extended skyward as he stared up at the ceiling. "C'mon, you bastards! You're just going to watch and refuse to lift a finger?" he shouted moving in circles. "Let the universe be destroyed, you did your part didn't you? And wait, what was that?" Harry continued ranting at the ceiling all the while chasing unseen figures and gesticulating wildly. "What glorious part did you deign to play in the cosmic battle?"

He stopped abruptly leaning his weight on one leg; he placed one hand on his hip the other held a finger against his lip as if in deep contemplation. "Ohhhh yes," he breathed out, his eyes wide as he adopted a serious look. "Lest it be forgotten, wiped from the memories of time, you couldn't escape the inevitable. Only those with no boundaries could fulfil your little plan. Only they were the hope to bring redemption to such pathetic fools—" he sighed, his eyes lowering to the ground seemingly captured by the sight of his bare toes as he waggled them. "And look what happened. Look around you," he cried, his voice breaking as he spread his arms outward.

He stood motionless his hands splayed as if hanging from an invisible cross. Slowly his head came upwards and Rose caught her breath as she saw fresh tears rolling down his face. "You couldn't even eliminate your sworn enemy, the scourge that remains free. You failed," he spat out vehemently. "With your last act of defiance you attempted to obliterate an entire species," his voice was rising slowly and gaining volume. His face a mask of hatred, brow deeply furrowed eyes ablaze and mouth turned downward. "And what do you have to show for it?"

He clambered onto the bed, bouncing higher as he punched upwards punctuating his words. "What. Do. You. Have. To. Show. For. It?" he shouted then dropped to his knees fell forward onto his arms, shoulders slumped in defeat.

"Nothing," he gasped, great sobs racking his body. "You couldn't have planned a better exile." Harry fell silent. He curled into as small of a ball as possible his body still convulsing as he mourned quietly.

Rose approached the bed guardedly never taking her eyes off of Harry.

"Don't leave me," the plea was childlike in its innocence, and Rose halted as Harry sat back and wiped a hand across his face. "Rose," he whispered her name, unable to look at her. "Please believe me. I never meant for you to see any of that horror."

"How did you know?" she asked curiously standing just beyond his reach.

He frowned, a puzzled look on his face. "When you pushed me away—" he gestured towards the floor. Rose began to shake her head, biting her bottom lip.

"I didn't push—"

Harry vaulted off the bed and in one step stood before her, his eyes riveted on hers. Rose tensed but refused to back away feeling his breath on her face. "I'm all alone. There's nobody. They're all gone. There's just me—" he finished in a whisper.

Without a thought Rose pulled him into a tight embrace. "You've got me," she whispered fiercely.


	16. Chapter 16

**A/N:** Red and white roses combined signify unity. This is where the story ends and I hope you enjoyed reading as much as I enjoyed writing this.

Six months later.

Six months, two days, nine hours, thirty-eight minutes, and fifteen—no, sixteen seconds since he'd first laid eyes on Rose, a solitary figure huddled on a cold beach alone. How long had he endured that same empty, numb isolation himself before he met her? Now he stood on the tarmac outside his private hangar, anxiously scanning the skies for the telltale flash of silver that would announce her arrival.

He sneered in derision as the massive bulk of a Zeppelin passed overhead, blocking out the already grayish skies. Its low, growling rumble sounded like a gigantic beast crawling towards its lair.

As the demands of Torchwood kept Rose busy, Harry had distanced himself from the agency by travelling back north while continuing his own research. He'd come to regret the decision, realizing during their extended absences one particular human occupied more and more of his thoughts. Yet there were still the myriad social functions an heiress to the Vitex Corporation was expected to attend, and the paparazzi seemed only too eager to discover Rose's new companion. Soon the papers were filled with photos of the couple and over-publicized speculation on their long-distance relationship. 

If they only knew, thought Harry as he perused the latest gossip column and found he agreed with the article; they did make quite the dashing couple. He'd used that very line in his latest vid-phone conversation with Rose. It had still taken some convincing to get her to agree to take more than a few days off of work, and then he'd rearranged his own schedule so that they could spend every minute of their holiday together. This week was going to be very different; he'd planned extensively for this event. Well, technically both events, but first things first.

He paced like a caged animal, back and forth in the open doorway of the hangar. His shoes sounded a muffled beat on the pavement, out of synch with his hearts; his hands were thrust deeply into his trouser pockets one moment before reaching up to adjust his collar, then hung loosely at his sides as he continued walking before they'd be back in his pockets. He'd already theorized the amount of time it would take to walk to London based on the number of steps between the door frame before he was forced to turn and retrace his path. 

He halted midstride, tilting his head to the side, hoping he had heard the faint sound of an engine, then shook his head at his wishful thinking and continued his pacing. His watch beeped twice, signalling the top of the hour. He was all too aware that her plane wasn't due for at least another twenty minutes, having been alerted the moment they'd left London. But he was unable to stop, he had to keep moving; had to stay preoccupied or he would be driven insane by the galloping staccato of his heartbeats in anticipation of her reaction. He wanted this to be better than perfect.

The steady rhythmic swish of his coat brushing against his trousers, combined with the dull thump of rubber soles against worn paved tar, gave the illusion of time passing like trickling sand through an hourglass. Each grain created endless possibilities streaking along a million separate pathways, every fraction of a moment was analyzed from various angles until he could no longer differentiate the infinite trails. He pulled up short and stopped as the familiar mechanical drone of a jet engine interrupted his inner musings and he restlessly scanned the horizon for the tell-tale silhouette. Nerve endings tingled with limitless unspent energy and coursed through him as the moment of her arrival became imminent, his face unable to hide his eagerness as her plane materialised and came in for a smooth, easy landing. 

The plane rolled forward still in motion but slowing to a snail's crawl while the ground crew hustled to move the portable stairs into position without knocking off their impatient guest. Harry was climbing up the steps with determination but rather awkwardly; his body careened side to side despite a white-knuckled grip on the silver rail as he fought the jarring movements. The sudden hiss of released pressure was the only thing that kept him from tearing the plane hatch open with his bare hands, and Harry's unexpected appearance forced the stunned stewardess backwards when he brushed past her dismissively, intent on only one individual.

Rose. 

He stood motionless, enraptured as he watched her pull the knapsack from its cramped overhead compartment, unaware of his presence until the bag fell into the seat below and she turned to face him. The surprise on her face was quickly erased by a smile of recognition reserved for him alone and he finished his mad rush, sweeping her into an unyielding embrace and burying his face in the crook of her neck, drawing in the scent of herbal shampoo, a hint of jasmine and infusing his senses with the smell of Rose, his Rose. He revelled in the feel of her heart beating with his.

Her body shook lightly as she chuckled. "Miss me?" she whispered tenderly, a low growl, his breath warm against her neck the only response as he held her even tighter.

Rose was the first to relax the embrace, pulling back enough to look in his eyes, and he could see his dilated pupils mirrored in hers. He was loath to lessen his hold, a tiny part of him convinced if he dared loosen his grip she would slip away and disappear leaving him with only the remnants of a dream.

Harry let Rose lead him down the steps as he struggled with his inner thoughts. Once on the tarmac, Rose tucked herself behind his arm, pulling it close to her with her other hand, giving the impression that he was in control. Just another of the many reasons he loved her. He would have stumbled when the realization dawned if Rose hadn't been holding him; instead it looked, to any observers, that they'd merely bounced off each other's shoulder.

"You seem distracted, Mr Saxon," Rose teased him lightly, a finger tracing its way down his lapel as she raised her gaze. He stood on the precipice, a part of him desperately wanting to confide in her, the other trying to convince him to continue waiting and let the plan unfold. He inhaled deeply, closed his eyes to fight the inner turmoil, then returned her gaze. Her own face grew serious when she caught the raw look in his eyes, and she hastily averted her face towards the waiting limousine. He felt her tense and heard the slight catch of breath. Just a little longer he placated himself; _trust me, Rose_, he pleaded silently.

Harry was well aware the vehicle had been in motion for some time now and blinked rapidly in an attempt to collect his thoughts. The unfamiliar emotions and feelings he was attempting to analyze were like trying to hold mercury in one's hand. He gave a tentative smile to Rose who sat studying him closely, her brows knit together. He felt the oppressive quiet settle over them and dared not open his mouth as he didn't fully trust himself to put into words what he felt. He nodded instead at her unvoiced question, let out a long exhale and squeezed her hand in what he thought might be a reassuring gesture. 

Rose lifted his hand and kissed the back of it, running her other hand over it in a soothing pattern. She seemed to sense his reluctance to talk and settled for snuggling closer to him and laying her head on his shoulder. Harry felt a sense of relief at her touch and wondered at her acceptance as he hadn't been asked to explain. He leaned his cheek against the crown of her head, amazed at how easily he found himself captured and enthralled by a single individual. 

_Mine_, he thought, even as he let go of her fingers and slid an arm around her waist, pulling her closer. Rose's now empty hand rested lightly on his thigh, her breathing had evened out and Harry knew Rose had fallen asleep. They still had a good couple of hours' drive ahead of them and Harry settled back, shifting his body slightly to allow him to cradle Rose against him, feeling her warmth even through the layers of clothing. His free hand cupped her face, thumb softly brushing over her cheek, and he placed a chaste kiss on her forehead, content now that she was back in his possession.

"Don't move," he admonished a slightly groggy Rose as he tugged her almost urgently out of the vehicle and towards the house. Rose yawned at the intrusion to her sleep, but followed willingly.

"Not sure I'm awake yet," she complained as Harry waggled a single finger in front of her nose causing Rose to giggle at his boyish excitement. 

They were now standing across from each other on the stoop and Rose watched with mild curiosity as Harry fumbled with the key, nearly dropping it as he pulled it from his pocket. Finally holding it up triumphantly, he turned to insert it into the lock, his fingers trembling slightly, making it difficult to get the key into the hole. Rose gently laid her hand on his steadying him and he twisted once, then jiggled the key. Of all the moments for the lock to stick he thought, twisting it hard while pushing against the door with his shoulder. He fell inward, barely catching himself and the door as it swung open with enough force to bounce back after colliding with the wall.

Harry gave an apologetic look towards Rose, who pretended to be studying the small bushes bordering the walkway. He took a deep breath, exhaled slowly and snuck a glance inside before turning back to Rose. 

"I want you to close your eyes." His tongue tripped over the words in his haste to get them out. Rose bit her bottom lip and eyed him warily. Harry held his breath, letting it out shakily as she followed his instructions, then tentatively held out her hand for Harry to guide her to whatever surprise he had planned. 

He'd been elusive in avoiding any mention of his arrangements for this holiday and when asked outright, had alluded to the fact it would just be a quiet weekend for the two of them. He hadn't convinced Rose of that fact, but when all of her questions had been left unanswered or the responses too vague to make any sense of, she had finally relented and let him enjoy his little mystery.

Harry backed slowly into the parlour, pulling Rose with him as they entered the same room where Rose had spent a night on the sofa, in what seemed like years rather than a few months ago, and steered her carefully to a designated location then released her hand and stepped back hesitantly. 

His voice was edged with trepidation as he invited her to open her eyes.

Rose contemplated the finely crafted antique grandfather clock he'd set her in front of. She'd admired the clock earlier with its exquisite woodwork and mellow tones, a lovely specimen of bygone days, but now her reflection stared back at her in puzzlement. Harry stepped forward hesitantly, never taking his eyes off of hers as he purposefully placed an open palm against the smoothly etched glass and pushed, the large front of the clock easily swinging inward at his touch.

Rose hardly dared breathe as she took in the expansive room before her, her expression one of doubtful comprehension. Her mouth opened as if about to speak then shut again, brows furrowing together as her eyes widened. Harry shifted his weight from one leg to the other, unsure of how to read her reaction, his own expression flitting between hopeful and uncertainty. What he'd thought would be a delighted surprise had turned to something more along the lines of confusion and disbelief. He looked expectantly towards the open doorway, then back towards Rose, his fingers twitching nervously at his side.

Without warning, he scooped Rose into his arms and stepped through the entrance, amazed that she wrapped her own arms around his neck after a rather undignified squeal. He'd expected a slap. 

He stood just beyond the doorway, still holding an astonished Rose in his arms. 

"It's a TARDIS?" she whispered in perplexed wonder, her eyes trying to take in everything at once as Harry set her on her feet concernedly watching her reaction. She took a step backwards reaching for something that wasn't there; arms flailing for a moment before Harry quickly stepped behind and caught her, steadying her once again.

"Surprised?" he asked quietly, chin resting on her shoulder as his lips moved against her hair. She nodded, still staring wide-eyed at the scene before her. Harry felt his chest swell with self-satisfaction. Her reaction and closeness were like a heady drug as he breathed in deeply, and slid his arms around her waist. He nuzzled her neck as her arms wrapped over his and she leaned back into him.

"I never thought I'd see another TARDIS."

"I would never have imagined allowing anyone else to see it." 

Rose's startled expression when she turned her head looking at him after his admission gave Harry a pause. She began to twist around in his arms, the heat of her body moving against his caused his hearts to race, yet he refused to loosen his grip. She sucked in a quick breath and her tongue caught on her upper lip as she gave him a saucy grin. 

"I was beginning to think Time Lords didn't dance with mere humans," she said even as she ran a hand up under his lapel and dared an upward look barely concealed under thick lashes. 

Harry quivered with desire, and his restraint waned like an overstretched cable whose twisted wires were ready to snap under too much pressure. He swallowed hard, holding back the growl of possession that threatened to unleash itself and forced himself to look at her eyes, not the soft cream-coloured long neck he was tempted to lick, taste, and nibble. He didn't want to play games any longer; he wanted her, his Rose. 

"No," the only word he could force out and Rose paused; nervously licked her bottom lip then raised her eyes to meet his, as if daring him to continue. He felt her temperature rise, the increase in her heartbeat, could smell her arousal as he pulled her body closer. There was no mistaking his physical feelings for her and yet Rose's gaze remained steady. 

The part Harry had dreaded was now upon him. How to put into such a plain and simple language the feelings, even that was inadequate, he had for this individual? 

As if on cue Rose stretched upward, closing the infinitesimal distance between them and kissed him. At first a hesitant brush of the lips against his, her eyes open, seeming to gauge his reaction. Then she closed her eyes, her arms winding around his neck and pulled him into another kiss, this one more demanding and confident. Harry didn't hesitate, eagerly returning her advance until they both found themselves panting for air. 

"How long will you stay with me, Rose?" he whispered in her ear even as his tongue traced warm, moist patterns over the delicate lobe, eliciting delightful little mews from its owner. Harry thought he was in danger of regeneration when her reply forced its way through his muddled brain.

"Forever."

They watched in companionable silence as the planet below played hide and seek with the cloud covering, the blues and greens fading to greys then back to even more stunning colours as the sunlight moved across the surface, every so often their eyes pulled away by the sight of a shooting star.

They sat in the doorway of the TARDIS, their legs swinging lazily outwards as Rose leaned against Harry her head resting under his chin, his arm wrapped securely around her waist. Their other hands sat on Harry's thigh, the two wedding rings overlapping as the metal caught bits of light reflecting it back. Rose still marvelled at the delicate red and white roses entwined in permanent engraving around the small bands. 

"This is more romantic than any honeymoon I could have imagined." Rose's quiet voice finally broke the stillness.

"It will be a few years before I can harness enough power to make another trip. Hopefully by then it won't just be to Earth's moon, quite possibly a different time period as well."

"Just? Where were you planning on taking me Mr Saxon?"

Harry chuckled, planting a kiss on Rose's head. "Everywhere and everywhen, Mrs Saxon," he pronounced proudly. "Although, I'm thinking you'd enjoy the beaches on Pratstegion."

"What's so special about the beaches there?"

"Crystal clear waters, abundant multicoloured sea life, beautiful white sands that stretch to the horizon, warm temperatures day round—"

"Sounds lovely," Rose murmured.

"And clothing's not an option," he added, laughing as Rose slapped him lightly.

(Two weeks later)

Harry clapped his hands gleefully as he thought of the upcoming rendezvous. Oh, how meticulously he had planned for this particular moment, and to think it was only a few second-ticks away. All his calculations, plotting, devising, scheming were finally going to pay off.

He was unable to relax, becoming a whirlwind of non-stop motion fuelled by his racing thoughts. He could probably fly if someone had provided him wings. He laughed, a deep rumbling noise that broke through the low whispered hum as a thunderclap and startled him for a brief second, before the realization hit him and he laughed again. Enjoying the sound of it bouncing around inside the room, it was a natural high as it built on itself until he was standing triumphantly in a storm of blissful mirth, arms spread wide, letting the echoes wash over him as he continued his wordless assault. 

Twirling around, he began dancing with an invisible partner, his motions expanding as he moved around the room to a melody only heard by him, prompting his steps forward and back in a series of patterns, then abruptly he raced to the console and begin twisting knobs, throwing levers, spinning around before slapping a succession of buttons. His performance one of unpractised choreography, yet his enthusiasm was contagious, increasing exponentially as he anticipated the impending engagement.

He couldn't wait to see the reaction on the other's face when he at last he revealed the Master plan—oh look! There he was. 

Harry felt like punching the air when he saw the startled incomprehension on the Doctor's face. The shadows of the TARDIS elongated the man's already gaunt features.

"What?" stuttered the Doctor, seemingly frozen in action and looking like a guppy fighting for air.

"Doctor," he purred, well aware of the dangerous look he received in return.

"Wha—"

"Oh come now. Is that any way to treat an old friend? You stand there as if in total disbelief, and after all this time. I'm disappointed that you thought you had destroyed me so easily." The Master leaned forward with a confident smirk and quiet tut. "You and I both know better." Then he casually leaned back in the leather seat and threw his legs on the console in pure arrogance.

"What are you up to?" spat out the Doctor dangerously.

The Master chuckled. "Wouldn't you like to know?" he sneered. "As if you'd be able to stop me this time." He couldn't help but delight in the obvious discomfort of the other Time Lord, who was frantically moving around his own console.

"Give it up, Doctor." The Master feigned boredom while he glanced at the back of his right hand, as if admiring a new manicure all the while managing to watch the Doctor's frenzied motions. "This is only a hologram." 

Those few words stopped the Doctor in his tracks, and he pulled his glasses out and peered warily through them at the Master. 

"Where are you? How long have we got? And. Why. Now?"

The Master shook his head resignedly. "Too many questions I'm afraid. Not enough time for all the answers." The Master stood and walked toward the console raising his left hand, turning it so that he was sure the Doctor could see the ring prominently displayed on his finger. "I just thought it would be positively impolite for me not to inform the closest thing to family, which happens to be you, thanks to you obliterating our home, of my, er rather, _our_ recent union." He waited as the words sunk in.

"And?" the Doctor's face mirrored his voiced apprehension. "What does that have to do with me?"

The Master recoiled in feigned shock. "I thought you would be happy for me. For us." He waggled the ring knowing the light's reflection would draw the other's eye to it. Wait he thought trying to read the other's expression, and now—

"How does that make you feel, Doctor? How does it make you feel, knowing, that I'm living the life you couldn't?" he gloated as a blackness descended over the other.

"Nooo!" screamed the Master, pounding his fists on the console as darkness descended. He leapt sideways to peer at the blank monitor then shouted at the ceiling. "I had two minutes!" He began frantically pulling levers and adjusting dials while muttering in frustration. "Just a few more seconds. Why couldn't you give me just a few more seconds?" he pleaded to the dead console before leaning on his arms and letting his head drop in defeat. 

Harry sighed, stood and picked up the dead power cell. It had served its purpose; he'd always known the stolen cell would come in handy someday. He tossed the small blackened crystal into the air and caught it, before tucking it into a pocket, patting it reassuredly. He'd keep it as a memento, he thought, and walked out of the TARDIS. 

As he closed the door behind him, he fell back against the door, recalling the Doctor's face. It had only taken nine hundred years, plus a few extra, to exact his revenge, and oh the taste of victory was his to enjoy at last. 


	17. Chapter 17

**A/N: This takes place during the previous chapter. Harry's proposal to Rose. The rose, Rainbow's End was the inspiration.**

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The part Harry had dreaded was here. How to put into such a plain and simple language the feelings, even that was inadequate, he had for this individual?

As if on cue Rose stretched upward and kissed him, at first a hesitant brush of the lips all the while seeming to gauge his reaction. Then she closed her eyes, her arms winding around his neck and pulled him into another kiss, this one more demanding and confident. Harry didn't hesitate, eagerly returning her advance until they both found themselves panting for air.

"How long will you stay with me, Rose?" he whispered in her ear, even as his tongue traced warm, moist patterns over the delicate lobe, eliciting delightful little mews from its owner.

Harry thought he was in danger of regeneration when her reply forced its way through his muddled brain.

"Forever."

--

Rose ran the tips of her index and middle fingers along his jaw line, stopping at the point of his chin before raising her gaze to meet his. Her light touch sent electrical currents coursing through him, and he suddenly found himself having to remember to breathe as her dark eyes conveyed the truth behind her words.

"That okay?" she murmured, her warm breath caressing his jaw and retracing the path her fingers had first outlined. She reciprocated with her tongue on his ear and he swallowed hard, scarcely able to nod in response.

Her movements stilled when Harry answered with a hoarse, "Why?" His arm curled around her waist, preventing her from stepping away even as she leaned back to study his face. Rose rested a hand lightly against his chest, the other she'd slid down to his bicep. He tensed momentarily, then shrugged away the thought of her readying to push away. She remained relaxed in his embrace and he followed suit, the tenseness turning to unmasked curiosity.

"Penny for your thoughts?" She prompted, fingers toying with the button on his shirt. Fearing she could read his thoughts he dropped his chin, watching as he brought his other hand up to run over the back of her hand before slipping his fingers between hers and pressing their hands together against his chest. Two heartbeats thumped steadily beneath, echoing a new rhythm.

"Why are you—not afraid of me?" he rushed the last few words and Rose leaned forward, tipping her head in an attempt to catch his eyes, unsuccessfully. At last she sighed, kissed the back of his hand and forced his head upward or risk knocking their heads together. Able to meet his eyes again she edged closer, the arm on his bicep now grazing through his close cropped hair. He tilted his head, pressing into her touch, enjoying the feel of her fingers massaging his scalp and waited, wondering what thoughts were hidden from him.

He remembered a time he had dreamt, catching the smallest of glimpses into her mind. In that dream he'd followed a golden thread of twisting light that had brought sharp reminders of home, at once comforting, intriguing, and left him with a longing for more. It had only been a short time before Rose discovered she could channel her innermost thoughts, and suddenly he'd found himself floundering, completely at a loss without the reassuring presence of that beacon. He'd experienced panic at the absence and was left to rely on his own intuition, which led to doubt.

Now here he stood upon a precipice, once again filled with reservations. How to express the rolling turmoil that battled within? Part of him wanted to reach out and seize what rightfully belonged to him, yet there was another voice, insisting his desire would be freely given if he'd but wait. He was perplexed as to when he'd acquired a conscience, and worse when he actually heeded its advice. He drew a shaky breath, wanting nothing more than to pull Rose closer to him until there was nothing but them, together as one.

"I don't fear you, because one doesn't fear that which one knows," Rose stated simply, refusing to break eye contact with him.

"How do you know me?" he whispered, captivated by the golden light mirrored in her darkened eyes and unable to discern if it was a reflection or a part of her.

"You let me in," Rose answered, but he heard a more ancient voice layered over hers and suddenly he was fearful. There was an underlying power that burned within Rose and it was that influence that had attracted him to her, he was beginning to understand. She was a part of his world, an element he'd thought lost forever and here it had presented itself in this human.

Her words twisted through his mind. "It was you who showed me the door and opened yourself to me. I've seen so much of what has made you, Harry. I've witnessed destruction at your fingertips, the cruel malice displayed to your enemies, the merciless evil you wrought upon innocents."

Undeserving, his mind screamed at him as he listened to her words of judgment. "Why—why don't you rid yourself of me then? I'm unworthy of you," his voice was hoarse, and still he was unable to let her go, or tear his gaze away.

"No." Rose shook her head, her eyes filled with tears as she cupped his face ever so gently in her hands. "That's all in the past. Because I've also seen another man, one hidden inside so very deep, I almost overlooked him. His are eyes that fill with awe upon discovering new wonders; there's an innocent joy in his explorations, a sense of accomplishment at his constructions. He's always curious, perceptive and lives with a hunger for knowledge that drives him. But beyond all that, there's a need for companionship, for acceptance." She smiled and pulled him forward for a kiss, a simple gesture, a promise of forgiveness and absolution.

Harry's arms wrapped around her, one thought left to him, Rose.

His Rose.

He'd bared his soul to her, this apparition of a goddess, and even now she was unafraid and waiting. Waiting to see what his decision might be. Would he stand with her, or cast her away, wanting nothing more to do with her.

Harry's own hands caressed her face as his eyes searched hers, their faces mere centimetres apart as he spoke softly, his heart and soul pouring themselves into a few words. "Take me, Rose." It was a prayer, full of desire and surrender

He felt a freedom at last as he gave himself to the phoenix and together, Rose and Harry soared amongst the stars. Hand in hand and heart to heart, they discovered every nuance and explored a world of pleasure between them.

--

Together they lay sated in each other's arms. Rose's head rested on Harry's chest as she listened to the comfort of the twin beats below, and Harry's arm wrapped around her protectively and possessively. He kissed the top of her head, nuzzling her hair and she turned her head to look into his eyes. His finger traced her cheek, his warm smile finding its way to his eyes.

"Marry me?" he whispered, raising his head towards her. She met him with her own smile and teary eyes, kissing him passionately before answering.

"I will."

The rest was all minor details, thought Harry as he lay back contented and closed his eyes.


End file.
